Inkpot
by xXfireXflyXx
Summary: Two young interns, Frank and Ann, at the Gotham Times look to further their respective careers by listening in on a mob meeting. Little do they know, Jokers frequent mob meetings too.
1. News Potential

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of this genre. Not the cannon characters, the place, the situations, or any borrowed script dialogue from the movie version, should that come up in later chapters. The only things I could potentially claim are my originals. Yup. **

**This **_**could**_** be a Joker/OC romance. We have to see how it plays out. Depends on the mood the writing takes. It wouldn't be a fluffy romance or anything. Something gritty to suit him, thank you very much. This is my first Batman-verse fic, so I'm a bit of a n00b. Sorry in advance. Any constructive pointers and reviews are, of course, always welcome.**

**Enjoyyyy. :)**

"Oh, eww!"

Ann wrinkled her nose as she caught a glance of recent crime scene photos that had recently been shipped in by Gotham's finest. They clearly weren't the worst ones of the bunch, but some of the more... indecent fellows down there were willing to fork over some of them to the press to get the word on the street what these mob hands could do to you. Her co-worker, Frank, glanced up, noticed that she had seen them, and hastily tucked them back in the nice little cream coloured envelope they had been sent in, a frown on his face.

"If you don't like looking at them, then don't. Nobody forces you to see them."

"I can't help it when we pretty much sit on top of each other," she snapped, squeezing her way back into their shared cubicle with a hot cup of coffee in one hand, and an issue of Vogue in the other. Seriously, this print out was where she wanted to be. Or some other distinguished fashion mag. Writing for Gotham Times, essentially doing grunt work in the crime section with Frank, wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she finished university.

She was a fresh graduate, twenty-one, and had left the local university with a degree in English literature (PS: twas mind numbingly boring, but worthwhile), a minor in interior design, and some dabbling in fashion, _and_ most of her professors claimed she was a damn fine writer. In all hopes of jumping into the fashion elite, she had sent applications off everywhere to magazines that suited her taste, only to have them reply with meagre payment and low-level support staff positions. Not like it was anything better than she was doing at the Times, but at least the pay was enough to let her afford her decent apartment with a few of the downtown mainstreet. You know how hard it is to find a stupid apartment that wasn't facing another one? Plus, the better paying job allowed her to continue to splurge on clothes whenever she wanted, plus it got her great experience. Once she worked her way up to single reporter – not a shared position that she had with Frank – maybe some of the old magazines in the fashion world would take her a little more seriously. Besides. She was in a _serious _department, you know? Crime was big in Gotham – duh – which meant there was a huge group of people working the four solid pages dedicated to it for each weekly edition, freshly printed every Sunday thank you. Frank and Ann were two of the many interns that would edit, transcribe recorded interviews, occasionally get to write a small blurb here and there, and follow _real _reporters to press conferences and the like. It was just _so_ exciting. Thrilling.

Ann had grown up in Gotham. Crime no longer held a huge appeal to her, seeing as she had become somewhat oblivious to it. It had hardened her stomach, and made her somewhat unaware of the rubbish that went on around her. Mobsters used to deal in her neighbourhood growing up. She and her sisters were pretty much convinced that there was a genuine mob guy living right next door to them, and gunshots hailing down between cars were... well, decently normal. Thankfully none of that had changed her love for clothing, fashion and design. She saw beauty in them, frankly. Although she probably could have left Gotham to go somewhere more... fashion-oriented, what would be the fun in that? May as well give back to the community that raised her, and perhaps help some of the less fashion-savvy folks of Gotham realize their full potential.

That and she didn't have the fucking cash to live somewhere like New York or Paris. Sigh.

So yeah. Here in the crime department. Frank and her 'minor' boss – a guy who really didn't amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but was clearly better than them – was a big mob junkie, and all the interns knew that should they get something good for him that involved the mob, he'd do them a favour in return. Bit of a blatant pervert, in Ann's opinion anyway, but Frank was keen on working his way up in this department. The stocky fellow had an uncle who worked in the police department, and after months of bribing and whatnot, they had managed to find a cop that would send them mob-hit photos and the like. It always made great press, and since most of the press weren't allowed in at a crime scene, it meant the Times generally had the best photos. No one knew how he got the pictures, and to be honest, no one cared. No one really cared about anything but results here, and that meant Ann got to stay out of the limelight, seeing as most people saw her and Frank as one singular slave that would do whatever they pleased. Ehh. Ann was more the writing chick. She was a good photocopier too! Could do a big ol' stack in under ten minutes if the copier was free. Which is usually never was, so apparently it's nothing to brag about.

Her desk looked nothing like the rest of the desks in surrounding cubicles. There was a clear distinction as to where her desk ended and Frank's started, because there was a huge pile of papers cluttering up his side. Hers was immaculate. Clean as a whistle. She had a thing about her area being clean, and usually spent a good ten minutes every morning undoing what the cleaners had done the previous night. Seriously. If she arranges her pencils from sharpest to dullest beside her laptop every fucking day, is that not a hint she likes it like that? Clearly not.

One can assume that the desks were a clear indication of how different Frank was to Ann. He didn't mind going a few days without showering. She showered at least twice a day. He worked best under pressure and mess, she preferred to have everything done well in advance. More time to read magazines, clearly. Somehow they managed to be friends. Even their appearances were different. Frank was short, a little on the heavier side, and somehow had managed to miss the acne stage in his youth and was getting hit full force with it now. Poor guy. Ann, on the other hand, was slim – one must be to work fashion, honey – with lengthy blonde hair, green eyes and completely clear skin. Facials are a miracle, no matter what Frank thinks. Poor fellow abhors them! He dressed in frat boy t-shirts – STILL! – and any range of lengthy shorts, sweats and old jeans, always with the same pair of running shoes. Ann liked to not wear the same thing for at least two weeks. She varied between comfortable and constricting shirts, skirts, jeans, dress pants, and all types of shoes. Do you now see where a lot of her pay check goes? Yes.

Flipping open her copy of Vogue lazily, she skipped the contents pages to the editors comments, reading it religiously while absently sipping her coffee. The little article about a robbery at a corner store – all details had been given by a very cute police officer – was finished on Tuesday (now Thursday) and was due Saturday, which meant there was nothing else to really... do. Sure, she would be an eager beaver and jump right into a new project, but she figured she may as well wait for her assignment next week. Frank had a similar assignment this week, but as usual he was sucking up to their superior and was getting information on the latest mob dealings. She had a sinking suspicion that he had a mole working the inside, but that was only a theory, one that she did not care or want to prove.

Suddenly, Frank's cell lit up, vibrating noisily near her elbow, and she glanced back, annoyed that it had somehow wandered onto her side of the desk. He grabbed it hastily and answered, his voice low. Somebody with information, no doubt.

"Food here yet?" she asked absently. She only did it to pester him, knowing that it wasn't the delivery company asking for directions for the umpteenth time, but someone probably more important. He waved her off irritably, the pen in his hand scribbling something down at high speed. His writing was only _barely_ legible, and she had given up trying to decode it ages ago. However, the intensity on his face could be seen in the reflection of his computer screen, and she swivelled around the best she could to get a good look at him. This had to be something important. Setting her coffee down, she closed her magazine and waited patiently until he finished, her eyes occasionally darting about to make sure that no one was becoming more interested in their cubicle than usual. It helped that they were tucked neatly in the corner. Most of the time they were looked over.

The call lasted a good seven or eight minutes, in which Ann lost and regained focus a few times. It was hard to pay such solid attention when he wasn't giving her any physical signs as to what the call was about. Finally, he set the damn thing down and turned to her, his chair squeaking in the process, "We've hit the motherload, Ann."

"What?"

"My guy... My guy found out where all the bosses are meeting!" he hissed with barely contained delight. "You know all the bank seizures lately? How Gordon's been taking in all the mob's money?"

"Of course," she lied confidently, vaguely remembering being filled in on that during a meeting that she had sort of... slept through at the beginning of the week. Police chief Jim Gordon was taking back mobsters' money from biased banks. Or... something.

"Well, according to my guy, they're all pretty fucking pissed off about it."

"Fair enough," Ann mused, shrugging her shoulders. She'd be pissed if people were suddenly taking away all her money too. "But what does this have to do with us?"

"He got us _details_ on the place they're having the meeting!" he nearly exploded, his face going that slightly reddish colour it did whenever he was excited. "He gave me details of the building, how to get in, how to avoid being seen, and where to hid if we were to, say, listen in on all their plans!"

She stared at him blankly, her mind finally clicking in with where his was going. When she finally remembered to blink, a laugh slipped past her lips, "Are you fucking serious, Frank? You want us... me and you, two people _clearly_ in the prime of their physical fitness, to go trapsing around some building to spy on mobsters?"

"We could have it _made_ around here if we got good stuff!" he pleaded softly, leaning forward, "My guy gave us the safest way in and out, up a garbage shoot, and we'd be in the background the whole time. It's tomorrow night-"

"I'm not spending my Friday night lurking in some dark trash can just so we could potentially hear something, then have a higher potential to get shot! No!"

"It'll be journalistic gold," Frank whispered, placing a hand on her arm. "We could get automatic promotions for doing something so risky-"

"If we get something decent."

"And think of the story they'll write!"

"_If_ we get something decent!"

"You could finally be something more than just... you! You could get a seriously good recommendation from the higher ups, and maybe they'd put in a good word at Gotham's Vogue office, or something!"

Hmm. Now there was a thought. She nibbled on her lip lightly, cocking her head to the side, "You think?"

"Fuck yeah," he replied enthusiastically in something of a whisper. "We tell no one, then we come back from a little snooping with the best damn story this department has ever seen! They are all so grateful that we get promoted, and you can put in a request to transfer somewhere more... you know, fashion-y."

Tapping her fingers against her chin, she eyed him, knowing that he would probably say just about anything at this point to get her to go along with his little scheme.

"Get a better game plan than 'we go hide in a room after climbing the garbage shoot', and maybe I'll consider it."

Maybe.


	2. Clowns and Mobsters

**Same disclaimer as always. Nothing DC or Nolan is mine. Dialogue used in this chapter is borrowed and credited to its original writers. Not me. Nope. No, no, no.**

**Enjoyyyy. :)**

Hmm. So apparently there wasn't a better plan than 'we go hide in a room after climbing the garbage shoot'. Frank had put it in different words. Called the garbage shoot a 'prime area for gaining access to a top secret location' and hinted at the fact that they would not be hiding, but sleuthing. Although this had all left Ann sceptical, as usual, she simply couldn't refuse the look on Frank's face. Besides, she was a Gotham girl! She shouldn't be all _that_ terrified of the possibility of meeting mobsters. You know, they were around so much in her youth that she should have just up and joined them. Would have saved her a lot of unnecessary stress.

Ann had given in to Frank that morning after a very heated argument by the water cooler. They didn't look like anything out of the ordinary, seeing as most reporters and the like were argumentative by nature, and no one bothered to give them a second glance. They were, after all, grunts to most people around here. Why care? Frank had picked up on his old arguments, claiming that should they get something brilliant – which they clearly would – then they would have it made here at the Times, and Ann could, maybe in a month, find herself working at some fashion magazine. Ann, again, argued the idea of getting bullets in their guts. It was a tough call who was more persuasive. In the end, Ann gave in. She figured that Frank's "guy" probably didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, and they'd end up sitting in some abandoned warehouse all night with their stupid camera, recorder, and massive headphones that allowed you to listen to things through walls. Kind of funky, if they weren't such a pain to wear.

So Ann and Frank spent most of the day chatting about their upcoming task, and to anyone else that may have caught snippets of their conversation, it sounded like nothing more than a couple talking about which club they were going to hit up later. Besides, they were _young_. What young person wouldn't be partying hard with drugs, sex and alcohol in Gotham? Pah. Ann didn't have the money for most of that. So instead, she was going to be going out with her co-worker to check out a place that may or may not be the new meeting place of all the mob heads. Hmm. Mildly interesting and dangerous mixed with a high chance of nothing actually happening. Should be an interesting night, if anything. She sort of worried that Frank would get his hopes dashed. After all, there was a pretty big potential that his guy was wrong by a couple of buildings, and it would be heartbreaking to see him sit around and pout because he didn't get anything worthwhile. However, he must have known that was the risk that one had to take on such "missions", and hopefully all would just be dandy. Hopefully they could just get some juicy gossip, or a good liner to sell to the police in exchange for printing the story, and then promotions would be on the horizon. That was the general idea, anyway.

When she met with Frank at the given location – a creepy looking warehouse down by the docks – she found him studying her with mild disapproval.

"What are you wearing?" he demanded, pointedly motioning down to her shoes with his eyes. She arched an eyebrow and followed his gaze, kicking up a foot, "Boots. Heels. I think they compliment the jeans."

Black ankle boots with a defined heel that zipped up on the side, to be exact. Bought them on sale about two weeks earlier, loving them. She watched his eyes narrow, and he let out a sigh, "Those aren't _sleuthing_ boots, Ann. You should have come in runners, or something."

"Flats don't go with the jeans," she stated obviously, motioning down to her skinny jeans that clung to her legs, "and the jeans go with the sweater. It was completely out of my hands, Frank. You know me and the rules of fashion."

He blinked twice, and she knew that somewhere inside a little bit of him died. However, he simply shook his head and readjusted the backpack straps on his shoulders, "Fine... I... No, whatever, fine. If they make too much noise, then you have to take them off when we're inside."

"_Fine_," Ann decreed dramatically, rolling her eyes, "I'll take them off when we get in."

"You have to take this seriously, Ann."

"I am!"

"No, _you_ are a sceptic at the moment... You don't think there will be anything, hence why you aren't taking the necessary precautions!"

She gave him a once over. He was dressed completely in black. Black shoes – shock, he actually owns more than one pair! – with baggy black jeans, a t-shirt that was turned inside out to hide the white AC/DC logo on the front, and a black cap to cover his already dark brown hair. Clearly he had gone all out for this. Once again, they looked like complete opposites. She pulled the elastic hair-tie from her wrist and pulled her wavy, thick blonde hair up into a high ponytail, trying to at least give in a little to his idea of a sleuth.

"I'm being absolutely serious, okay?" She tried to reassure him, but it seemed to fall to deaf ears. He was either too excited about the night, or jittery with nerves, because she had never seen him move so much. They were currently located in an alley between two warehouses. As decided, they each took separate taxis – who owns a car in downtown Gotham? – and walked two blocks to the docks to meet at around 3 in the afternoon. Why the black attire was necessary if they were going to be skulking around in broad fucking daylight – apparently the meeting time had changed last minute, according to Frank's "guy" – she had no idea. Naturally, the two simply up and left work; no one would see that they were missing anyway.

After giving all of his knuckles a rather noise crack, Frank motioned silently to the bulky garbage that trailed out the side of the building and straight into a large metal bin. Rolling her eyes, she followed him toward it, hesitantly leaning over the side to take a quick look as to what she would have to wade through to get in. The shoot had little ridges, a la Home Alone 2, and seemed like there would be something to vaguely grip when one would try to climb up it. Not that it would be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it seemed somewhat more doable now that she was looking at it. It wasn't a straight up and down climb either, and thankfully the device was located on something of a slant.

"Okay, we'll climb up and assess the inside when it comes to it," Frank decided, something of an authoritative tone to his voice. She sucked in her cheeks distastefully, her eyes giving the shoot another once over before sighing, "All right, but wait two seconds."

He was already trying to heave himself up and into the garbage can as she fished around in her pocket for something. When he fingers came into contact with the rubbery substance she was looking for, she quickly yanked it out.

"What the Hell is that, Ann?"

"A noseplug."

"Are you serious?"

"I look fucking serious, don't I?" she snapped back, her voice nasally now that the plug was blocking it. Like Hell she was going to sit there and inhale all the junk that was floating around. Not through her nose, anyway. With a grunt, she dragged herself up and into the trash bin, wincing as her booted feet came into contact with the trash bags inside. Frank lifted the bottom of the shoot up and began to make his way in. This time it was her turn to ask, "What the Hell are _you_ doing?"

"Climbing."

"I should go first!"

There was a pause, and he suddenly popped his body back out, "Why?"

"Because," she replied simply, nudging him aside and climbing under the opening, "if you slip and come barrelling toward me... it'll be more of a disaster for both of us than it would be if I slipped."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Big boned, honey, big boned."

A little harsh, yes, but she couldn't possibly hold him should he somehow lose his footing and fall. That would send both of them plummeting toward the ground, with her being squished by him in the process. At least he could maybe try and catch her... or... something. The climb was a lot more difficult than she had previously expected. It was hard to get your footing right, then it would be difficult to grip something with your hands... All in all it was a rigorous work-out, one that would be recommended to people who were into that kind of stuff. Ann was not. She wasn't into much physical exercise at all really, and when she finally made it to the curve that led into the building, she was exhausted. The entrance was blocked with what she could only assume was a little door, and a few good shoves sent the metal thing flying open. It banged noisily against the wall, echoing in the empty hallway, and she quickly scrambled out to keep it from clanging from the contact. Frank's hiss of disapproval could be heard slightly over his tired grunts, but she ignored it. Moments later, Frank too hauled himself out of the garbage shoot, two large beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks. Clearly a stupid idea to wear the wool cap. Wiping them away, the pair quickly reconvened in a small, thankfully empty, room nearby.

Flinging his bag off his shoulders, Frank hastily began pulling out the floorplan on the building, and the two worked to locate their exact standing. They were close to the meeting room, only one floor below it, and a staircase at the end of the hallway would take them to where they were technically supposed to be.

"So we take the stairs, make a mad dash for the kitchens next to this little meeting hall, and then set up there?" Ann inquired, wondering why people would want to meet in here. The whole building just seemed... unclean. Things were rusted, paint was peeling, and some of the ceiling was hanging out. Bit of a health risk, as far as Ann was concerned. However, it looked inconspicuous enough from the outside, so she guessed it was a decent place to hold this little meeting.

"Sounds about right...but the boots need to come off."

"But-"

"This place is empty," he pressed, trying to make her understand fully, "I mean... I'm surprised no one came running when you flung the garbage shoot door open!"

Maybe it was because no one was actually here. She wanted to say it, but the look on his face was too hopeful to spoil. Instead, she simply gave in and tugged off her lovely boots, leaving her in a pair of rather thin black socks, and tucked them into his backpack. If he wouldn't let her wear them, then he could carry them, which he did without a single complaint.

Their trek upstairs was relatively undisturbed, until they got closer to the room they had intended to spy on. There was talking. Movement. The sound of a group of people coming from behind a pair of metal doors made Ann's blood run cold, and at that moment she realized that Frank's "guy" may not be as full of shit as she thought him to be. Suddenly, Frank clutched her hand and dragged her off into the neighbouring room, which was coincidently the end of the hallway. Once in that room, they marched through another door inside which, theoretically, would take them right next to the inner confines of the meeting room. The room in which all the heads were meeting as some sort of mess hall, which clearly must have been converted so these little occasions.

This room was cluttered. Abandoned, filled with old boxes and wrapping paper, but one could make out what appeared to be something like a kitchen once existed there. Ann took a moment studying it as Frank dropped down to his knees. She suddenly noticed that a pair of saloon-style doors were nearby, and through them the muffled sounds were just a little louder. Those must have led directly into the room. A worrying thought, should someone decide to come out of them. Swallowing thickly, she crouched down next to her partner as he began dragging equipment out of his bag. He handed her a massive set of headphones, and she begrudgingly put them on. He carried on, setting up the device so that they could listen somewhat coherently through the thick walls that supposedly divided them from the heads of the most dangerous organizations in all of Gotham. This was _serious_ shit.

"Ready?" he whispered, looking up at her. She nodded, and he flicked the on switch. The recorder whirled to life between them, and voices suddenly echoed into their ears. Chatter. Many of them were voices she recognized from the news. Maroni and Gambol were there, among others. There was a foreign voice too, somewhat muffled, and Ann wondered if they were watching the recording. Then there was static. Glaring up at her headphones, she gave them a few good pats, then looked at Frank, annoyed. Why was she given the shit ones? More of a rhetorical question, really. He shrugged, and then carried on listening with such intensity on his face that she knew he truly meant business today. Clearly. If neither of them were careful at this very moment, one of those mobsters could burst through the flimsy double doors and catch them! Sighing, she tried her best to listen to what was happening, but she could barely catch any of the conversation. Only snippets managed to get through her headphones, and she was sure that Frank was getting just about everything perfectly on his head.

Suddenly, a crackling voice trailed onto the airwaves, one that she didn't recognize from any news station or interview. It was... laughing. And once it started, the only thing that could be heard from the room was that cruel laughter. It gave her chills, and when she examined Frank's face, she was pleased to see that he was equally as put off as she was.

"_And I thought... __**my**__ jokes were bad..."_

That rang through loud and clear. That voice... It was so... terrifying, and while she had every desire to take those shitty headphones off and tell Frank that it was time to get the Hell out of there, she couldn't help but stay firmly planted in their crouched position on the floor, listening intently. Gambol was speaking, but she could barely make it out. Stupid fucking headphones! She gave them a few good smacks, and tuned back into the conversation at a loud smash. It sounded like... something hard colliding with the metal tables that were everywhere in this building. Lost, Ann tried her best to focus and catch up.

"_Let's wind the clocks back... a year,"_ the voice started, _"these... cops and lawyers wouldn't __**dare**__ touch cross any of you. I mean... What happened? Didja... Did your balls drop off?"_

She held in a snort. Funny stuff, creepy voice. All of a sudden, her headphones completely disconnected, and she could hear nothing. Alarmed, she pulled the plug in and out a few times, checking to see if it was simply the connection that was making her lose her only line into the room. The connection, however, didn't seem to be the problem. It was the stupid, cheap-ass headphones that had clearly given up on life and died on her ears. No! This was actually something worthwhile! Frank seemed to not care about her struggles with technology one bit, and was mesmerized by a spot on the wall as he listened to the internal conversations with ease. Bastard probably picked the good headphones on purpose.

"What's happening?" she hissed, nudging his shoulder as quietly as she could. He grimaced, then glanced at her for a split second, "He's talking about Batman."

"Who? The weirdo?"

"Hmm."

"What's he saying?!"

"Shut up, Ann, you can hear the tape later!"

Frustrated, she eased herself up on her socked feet, and shifted over toward the double doors, camera in hand. If she couldn't hear anything through that stupid machine, she may as well try and listen in for herself. Crouched down by the door now, she leaned in, trying her hardest to catch a smidgen of conversation. Nothing. It was all still too muffled to make out, though it was easier to tell the tones of voices, and who was talking. Things suddenly started to get heated up inside. Chairs scrapped noisily against the floor, shocked gasps and voices were raised, and she wondered what the Hell was actually happening! A look back at Frank told her that he too wished he could actually _see_ inside the room, rather than just hear what was going down. Then silence. The weird muffled voice came on again.

"Get away from the door, Ann," Frank said suddenly, turning to look at her sharply. She frowned, and then released a startled gasp as the doors were flung open, and a man in a purple suit came backing out. He darted to the side, standing directly in front of Ann's position on the ground. For a moment, both sides were stunned to see one another. The man in front of them was... theatrical, to say the least. Face make-up in the shape of a demented horror clown of some sort, and as her eyes did a quick once over, she noted that his clothes clashed colours. Purple jacket, pants, gloves, orange tie, green and greasy hair...

But, you know, that's going to be a hit next season, according to Vogue. The bright and clashy colours...

The man's eyebrows shot up as he looked at both Ann and Frank, and he cocked his head to side, "Naughty press reporters _snooping_ when they shouldn'tah-"

"Run Ann!" Frank hissed, recording equipment already slung in his bag. She wanted to move, she really did, but all she managed to do was emit a frightened whimper as he looked down at her with those blackened eyes. Crooks didn't scare her. Psychos... well, that's a different story. He grinned eerily, and batted his eyelashes, "Well, hello there, _Ann_-"

As he spoke, he reached out for her, no doubt to grab her arm. However, in a moment of shockingly quick reflexes, she brought her camera up and snapped a photo right in his face. The flash, set on its brightest setting from a previous night's picture taking escapade, managed to momentarily distract him – hopefully make him see stars and whatnot – and she scrambled to her feet and tore off down toward the door as fast as her socked feet could take her. Although she didn't look back to check, she could have sworn she felt a hand swipe at her as she raced off. Grasping Frank's extended hand, the pair barrelled out of the room and into the corridor, careful not to make too much noise as to notify the mobsters of their presence, but in a flurry of panic that ended up sending them in the opposite direction of their garbage shoot.

Frank dragged her through a doorway that led to a rather dodgy looking staircase, but they climbed it without hesitation when a shadow seemed to be following them. Halfway up, they heard a voice cry, "Where you goin', kiddies? Uncle Joker wants to see the _pictures_ you took!"

The voice turned from mocking to gruff in a matter of minutes, and they soon heard footsteps thundering up the stairs behind them.

"The garbage shoot was below us!" Ann stated suddenly, her voice high-strung with panic, "We need to go down, not up!"

"There's a shoot on this side of the building, I remember," Frank stated as they pushed through the door that led them out of the stairwell and into a corridor. He seemed indecisive for a moment, then dragged her down to the left. Sure enough, they found a garbage shoot only moments later, though when she gave a casual glance out the window, she noted that it was a Hell of a lot higher up than the other one was. Two more stories, to be exact. Thankfully it too was a on a slant, but that wouldn't matter if you came flying out into an empty metal garbage container.

"Take the bag and get in," he ordered sharply, stuffing the backpack in her hand just as the door they previously exited burst open abruptly. Their predator came strolling out, eyes peeled for them.

"We can go together-"

"No, just get the fuck in!" Frank snapped, "It won't hold us both... and we won't fit anyway."

"Ohhh kiddies...?"

"Frank-"

"Get in!"

Before she could stop herself, her legs took over and they climbed into the open garbage shoot. She paused, only to find herself being shoved in by Frank. Plummeting toward the ground, she let out a few yelps and embarrassing squeals until she finally rolled out and into a large pile of trash. As quickly as she could, Ann moved to the side, waiting for Frank to come sliding down after her on the same painful journey she took, but there was nothing of the sort. Instead, an unsettling silence took over. Where the Hell was Frank?! Mortified at the thought that that... Joker fellow had latched onto him, she dragged herself to the side of the metal container and peered up at the windows, hoping that maybe she could see him making a run for freedom. However, the scene above her was nothing of the sort. Instead, she saw Frank's face squished up against the window, arms flailing, and that hideous painted face was lurking behind, grinning down at her. An overwhelming feeling of guilt and horror took over, but she was still able to make out the word being formed in Frank's screaming mouth. _Run. _

She couldn't do it to him. She couldn't leave him there with mobsters only a floor below, and a lunatic holding him hostage. But despite all her mental protests and conflicts, her legs took over yet again and did the logical thing... She ran like hell.


	3. Bargain

**DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER. Same as usual. **

**Also, this chapter is rather short, but it was because I haven't updated in a while, and it needs to be done... and it needs to be short just to get it rolling along. The next updates will be longer, I promise. **

Oh God.

Ann had ran out of that dock shipping yard so fast her legs were searing by the time she scrambled into a passing taxi. She was... shell-shocked, it seemed, and it actually took her a few minutes to remember where her apartment was. Once the driver was given instructions after some time of aimless driving, she sat in the back, tensed and worried and guilty, mixed with a whole slew of other emotions. How was she supposed to feel about leaving one of her friends behind with mobsters and psychos?! Was she supposed to call the police? No, no, that generally turned out bad for people. The mob had people in the stations around town, and she knew that once her name was in the system as a witness, she'd probably have more trouble than she expected for her act of charity toward Frank. No, they couldn't know who she was!

She felt herself shaken from her thoughts when the taxi came to a stop in front of her apartment complex. Hand twitching slightly, she reached into her purse and tipped the driver far too much, then hurriedly shuffled out of the taxi, feet hammering the pavement as she raced toward the front door. Fumbling over her keys, she hastily jammed it into the door and ripped it open, hurrying into the dirty front lobby of her complex. A janitor was scrubbing at a spot on the floor with such intensity that he barely acknowledged her presence. Running her hand through her hair, she tried to keep herself relatively calm as she marched over to the elevator. This was supposed to be a decent place, remember? Downtown and expensive. Yeah. The elevator had red carpets and mirrors and everything. However, all this was a blur as she made her way up to her apartment, numbing with each step.

Her apartment was completely black when she finally made it inside, and before she turned on any lights, she made sure her curtains were shut and the door was locked. Once those two tasks were accomplished, she went about the entire place, flicking on lights and opening up previously closed doors. No creepers hiding in the shadows, for now, but one could never be too sure. She turned on the radio, the television and gripped her cell phone in hand tightly. 911 was just a phone call away, you know. But she couldn't. Gotham police had enough to deal with, and one kidnapping case of some crime junkie who writes for a measly column was not going to get the attention it deserved. No, she was going to have to help Frank out herself, or she could never find a way to make the guilt stop. She had just _left_ him there... like her skin was worth more than his. Despite the fact everything she owned was worth more than his junk, she would never think Frank was any less of a person for it.

Suddenly, her ring tone sounded from the landline. Shrill, as it always was, it made her skin dance more than usual. For a long time she simply stared at it, watching as it rung and rung and rung and rung. It actually did not occur to her to pick it up, until finally the ringing ceased, and the answering machine kicked in, "Ann... Please, God, Ann pick up the phone! I... I don't remember your cell number, and I know you're probably home..."

Frank. Her insides knotted painfully, and she strode over to the phone. After hesitating a moment, she picked up the receiver, hoping that he had been tossed out of a car somewhere and was calling from a payphone at the side of the road, "Frank?"

"Nope," came that same horrifying voice, "but you're close, Sugar."

She sucked in a gust of air, and resisted the urge to slam down the phone. Come on, Ann, this was for Frank! She couldn't just leave him, despite the fact every instinct in her slightly selfish body demanded that she do so. Summoning up whatever courage she had – she was a Gotham girl, after all! – she gripped the receiver and took a deep breath, "Look, I don't know what you want-"

"Well, I haven't _told_ you yet, have I?" the man sighed into his end of the phone, making her cheeks flush. Her one attempt at bravery thwarted by sarcasm. Damn it. The pair was silent for a minute, and she cleared her throat, "Well, will you tell me what you want then?"

"No."

There was a giggle. Ann frowned, glaring into the receiver, despite her fear, "Why not?"

"Because I'd like to know what _you_ want first!"

"Well..." she paused, fumbling with the cord between her fingers, "I'd like Frank back."

"A lover?"

"What?! God no, I just... I'd like my friend back."

"So you're a totally... selfless individual, huh? Just want to see your little boy safe, nothing more?"

"I... Yes, that would be nice, yes. I want to have him back in the same shape I left him in."

"Ah. Well... I don't think I can... _quite_ promise that anymore..."

"All right, well in a decent condition, I don't mind, so long as I can have him back!" Ann felt her voice crack slightly at the end of her plea, and the man on the other end burst out laughing. It was so obnoxious that she had to hold the phone away from her ear until he finished. When he resumed talking, she couldn't help but notice the tone of his voice had changed drastically; he was darker and deeper in pitch, "Well, I can't say I'm much of a selfless individual, like you, sweet Ann. I think everything has to be... _earned_."

Suddenly the banter was serious. She swallowed thickly, her weight shifting back and forth between her shaky legs, and she nodded her head, knowing full well he couldn't see her do it, "All right. How can I earn him back?"

"You know Gambol?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but felt no words come out. He repeated his question, this time as though she was some dimwitted child, and she finally found her voice, "Yes."

"Good. He has... something I want, and you're going to get it for me."

"But-"

"Let me finish," he snapped, causing her to flinch. "Is she always like this?"

There was a whimper in the background, and she heard him groan again, "Now listen carefully until all the words stop... I want a knife from him. It's _rustic_ and outdoorsy, just my cup of tea, really. He carries it on his belt, and I _want_ it. You get me that, and I'll get you... Franklin."

Stunned, Ann stared blankly down at her couch. He wanted her to get a knife... from a mob boss? But...

"How am I supposed to-"

"You're a pretty girl... I'm sure that will be helpful."

"But-"

"I'll call you back... _tomorrow_. How does that sound? Let's say, around 2 am. We can make the switch then, huh?"

"But it's just a knife!" she cried, feeling somewhat queasy all of a sudden, "I can buy you the exact same one, if you'd like!"

"How about I get _you_ a another Frank? Sound fair?"

"That's hardly the same thing!"

"To me it is," he growled, his voice sounding as though his mouth was pressed dead up to the receiver. "He hangs around that _bar_ down on fifth and Western. You know the one?"

"I've heard of it."

"Good, then this shouldn't be a problem. I'll call you tomorrow, _Ann_."

Before she could protest to this absurd assignment, the dial tone filled her ears, and she slammed down the phone, breath hitched in her throat.


	4. Attempted Seduction

Now, what does one wear to properly seduce a mob boss? Ann glanced down at her glittery gold dress, knowing that it was too good to be worn at a scumbag bar like the one she would be lurking around tonight, but it was certainly one of her more attractive options. Sequins of gold clung to her body, and although it was a slightly shapeless dress, it made her legs look a million miles long, and her shoulders look elegant. Everything was accomplished with this piece; she looked saucy, but not slutty, and that was the plan. Her hair was fluffed, her make-up was pristine, and her shoes added another mile to those lovely legs of hers. She looked damn fine, if she didn't say so herself. Armed with a clutch, she had trudged down to the bar where Gambol was supposed to be at around 11:30 pm, knowing that it wouldn't take long to locate, seduce, and then steal from the guy...

Look, she knew she was tooting her own horn, but she looked good. Her confidence was at an all time high when she strolled along the slightly off-putting street, and she held her shoulders back even when she heard footsteps scuttling behind her. She was a Gotham Girl, don't forget, and this shit shouldn't terrify her anymore. But it did. Every fibre of her being was shaking, though she managed to stay completely composed on the outside. It also helped that she was a touch drunk going into this thing; liquid courage never hurt anyone, all right? Heels clacking, muscles twitching, and a somewhat bored expression on her lips, Ann marched right up to the entrance of the club... bar... whatever. The bouncers had just let a pair of women pass ahead of her, and although they were certainly wearing far less clothing than she was, she knew she had that sophisticated appeal that was going to work tonight. Well, she hoped. She had never exactly _tried_ to seduce a mob boss, and if she could help it, she never planned to do it again.

You see, she knew there was no way on earth she would have been able to simply steal the knife from him. No, she wasn't exactly subtle most of the time, and she knew the moment she tried to lift it off him – presumably from his belt or something... where else would it be? – the man would catch her, and then... well, she'd prefer not to think of what might follow. Gun shots. Stab wounds. Thrown out on her ass. All of these were serious possibilities, and Frank had better worship the ground she walks on when she does this and gets him back. All of this was for him. Over the course of the day, Ann had realized that Frank was one of her few good friends in this city that accepted her for exactly who she was. She never had to hide the fact that she could be a selfish snob sometimes, and he knew that. He made her laugh (at, not with, mind you), and he was the closest thing she had had to a male relationship in... a very long time. So despite the fact this was terrifying, unsafe, and might end up going to Hell within the first five minutes, she had to try. She had to try for Frank. So long as this psycho she was dealing with was good on his word, she would have Frank back by at least 3 am tomorrow morning, and that wasn't a moment too soon.

The pair of bouncers swung the door shut behind the two women in front of her, and Ann cocked an eyebrow. One held out a hand, "ID please?"

"What?" she laughed, staring at them in disbelief. Surely this wasn't happening. They served highly illegal mob bosses in here... and they cared whether or not she was legal to drink? When the man's face gazed back at her, dead serious, she cleared her throat and hastily rummaged into her clutch, producing a driver's license for him to examine. It was a few years old, so she was much more attractive now than in the picture, but it still looked like her. After both had examined it, it was handed back to her, and the door was opened, "Have a nice evening, Miss."

She faulted in her response, only for a moment, and then nodded, "... Thanks."

The smell of booze and cigarettes hit her the moment she stepped inside. It was a dark, musty club. Chatter and the soft hum of a girl singing on the stage filtered through, and she had to take a step back. This wasn't what she had expected at all. No, the way she imagined it was all handsy gangsters fist pumping to some irritating music on a dance floor, and everyone piss drunk. Therefore, imagine her surprise when she saw that many of the tables were full of men playing cards, women nearby, and the dance floor was scattered with a few couples slow-dancing to the admittedly romantic song. Hmph. It was going to be a little harder to get Gambol's attention when there wasn't this air of sex and scandal floating around. Biting her lip absently, Ann's eyes roamed the room, going from table to table until she found the man that resembled Gambol, based on all the photographs the department had of him. Plus she had seen him on TV a few times, so that definitely helped. A statuesque African-American man, probably in his early forties, Gambol was seated close to the bar, surrounded by a few other men who were comfortable enough to lounge in front of him. She wasn't particularly sure how the mob hierarchy worked, but these guys must have been pretty close to the boss to be able to play cards with him.

Erhm. Right.

Flicking her hair over her shoulders, she strolled over to the bar, taking a seat directly across from Gambol, and ordered a martini. Dry, thank you. Clutch resting on her lap, she crossed one long leg over the other and glanced over her shoulder, eyes roaming again until she let them rest on Gambol for a moment. He hadn't noticed her, and was instead grinning toothily as he dragged in a set of chips toward him, clearly his winnings, and the surrounding men tossed their cards into the middle pile irritably. He still didn't look up at the bar, and Ann sighed, turning her attention back round to her freshly delivered drink. Then a thought hit her. Pursing her lips, she turned back around to eye the drink Gambol had; a glass of red wine. Which was nearly empty. Catching the bartenders attention again, she told him to send Gambol another glass, on her, and tell him it was a congratulatory drink for his win. There, that ought to get his attention.

She brought the wide-rimmed martini glass to her lips and took a delicate sip, watching in the mirror behind the bar as the attendant brought Gambol his new drink. The mob boss' eyes flickered up toward her when the bartender pointed her out, and she casually glanced over her shoulder and shot him the quickest of smirks. The men toasted her with his new drink, then beckoned her over with a nod of his head. With an arched eyebrow, she slid out of the stool at the bar and sauntered toward him, trying her best to remain confident and aloof, when really her insides were jelly.

"It isn't often such a pretty lady will buy me a drink," he mused when she was close enough, pushing out his chair and patting the armrest, "and I think I've found myself a good luck charm for the night."

"Oh?" she responded, keeping her voice as even as possible as she took up a position next to him, "And what's that?"

"You," he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting it rest on her thigh. "I won after you came in, didn't I? Then I get a free refill? I'm spoiled, and you're a gorgeous charm."

"Thank you," she grinned, noting that he had a wedding band on his finger, "I'm glad to be of service."

"Deal, Mack," Gambol ordered light-heartedly, swatting the fellow next to him. Ann downed the rest of her martini, her head swimming momentarily from the alcohol. She would have to take it slow; otherwise she was going to blow this. Being a bit drunk to get herself in the door was fine, but without her wits now, there was a chance she may end up with more than she bargained for. Especially with the way Gambol was stroking her thigh. His attention was mostly on the cards in his free hand, to which she commented on in his ear whenever she had the opportunity. She had been quite a poker player in college, though she was a touch rusty. He didn't seem to mind; in fact, he found her mistakes amusing, and would always playfully correct her with a whisper to her own ear. Every time she felt his breath on her, she cringed a little, but was pleased to see that she was a better actress than most would have given her credit for. This was for Frank.

Speaking of which... She casually adjusted her position at one point, during which she caused his jacket to shift slightly, revealing a rather large knife strapped onto his brown belt. Why on earth did that freak want it? Like she had said on the phone, it would have just been easier to buy one that looked exactly like it... all of this was so unnecessary! Flicking her hair back again, she smiled impishly when he looked up at her, a winning set in hand, and she curved her arm around his thick shoulders, whispering another set of 'congratulations' in his ear when he found himself winning for the third time in a row. Maybe she was a lucky charm? Perhaps she could consider hiring herself out to help poker players win... for a certain percentage of the earnings, of course. Hmm. Shaking her head, she cleared her thoughts of anything but getting her prize, and waited patiently as the night progressed.

It was nearly half past midnight when she realized that it was getting late. They had been playing for over an hour, and Gambol had won several hands. Half of her wondered whether his men were letting him win, seeing as he could have them killed in a heartbeat, or if she was really just that much of a charm. However, time was of the essence, and she knew that she was going to get a call in about an hour and a half back at her apartment, one that would tell her where she could get Frank. Naturally, that meant by then she was supposed to have the knife on her, but that shouldn't be too hard. Gambol had had a few more drinks, and his hands were getting bolder. Surely she could have him whipped into submission with the promise of sex in some dark room somewhere... private, of course.

Leaning down, she whispered a proposition in his ear. You. Me. Somewhere a little more private? A few of his men were heading off to the bar to refill their drinks, while some were lighting up a cigarette, and Gambol mused that it wouldn't be a problem to find somewhere quieter than here. Soon they were up, and she had her small hand clasped in his as they navigated their way through the bar. The music had picked up now, there were definitely more people, and Ann could feel her head still swirling from a recently downed drink. Hey, she needed another dose of the courage if she was actually going to go through with this!

Before she knew it, she was being thrust into a private room off to the back of the bar, his lips to hers, his hands running along her slim frame. They were an awkward match, her skinny and he muscular, though she couldn't think about that. Don't let your mind wander, Ann! She had a difficult time keeping up with him, and when he drifted down to her neck, she sucked in a large gasp of air. It might have come across as a gasp of pleasure, seeing as he was now rubbing himself up against her, but really she was just trying to breathe, damn it! Wrapping one leg around his waist, she felt the bulky knife at his side. The dim light flickered above them, and he suddenly turned around so that his back was to the wall, and she heard the unmistakable sound of the unzipping of a zipper and the unbuckling of a belt buckle. Sliding down his body, she looked up at him and grinned, though a split second later grabbed the hilt of the knife, yanked it out of the holster, and tried to swerve round for a quick exit out the door.

"Hey!"

Unfortunately, he was faster than she could have ever hoped to be, and she screamed as he slammed the door she had only just managed to get open. Trying to duck under his arm, Ann failed miserably, and screamed again as he tucked an arm under her waist and slammed her back against the door. His hand wrapped around her throat, and she felt him start to compress her windpipe.

"You think you can come back here and try to rob me? _Me_?!"

"Please," she whispered, her voice strained due to the lack of air, "you don't understand! I need this!"

It actually didn't even occur to her to use the knife on him. It had already been dropped, and her hands were busy trying to loosen his grip on her throat, "He... I need it for him! He's... He's going to hurt Frank, and I need it! H-He wants it!"

His eyes narrowed, "Who? Who wants it?"

She gasped again, trying to get in as much air as she could, and she was starting to see little dots in front of her eyes. Blinking a few times, trying to make them vanish, she managed to get out, "Clown. The clown w-wants it-"

The moment she mentioned a 'clown' – which was really the only physical description she could give the guy from their brief encounter – Gambol dropped her, and she ended up in a crumbled mess at his feet. Her neck throbbed, though it was nice to finally take a deep breath again. Her few seconds of peace were short-lived, and she released a cry of pain as the mob boss backhanded her sharply, his rings coming into painful contact with her cheekbones, "You're working for the Joker?! Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!"

"No!" she whimpered, delicately touching the side of her face as she cowered on the floor, her lip now bleeding, "No! He-"

A kick to the gut shut her up, and she cried out again. Of course this would happen. How could she possibly think that by some stretch of the imagination her stupid plan was actually going to work? Now here she was, broken and bruised on the floor, and Gambol was flipping a shit about some Joker guy. Clearly it was the wrong thing to say, but her brain was barely functioning. What with the alcohol and the new trauma, it was a wonder that she was conscious.

That was about to be remedied, much to her horror. Gambol crouched down next to her, pushing her hair out of her face, "Well, sweetheart, don't you worry. Me and my boys will send you back to your boss soon enough. You'll make a pretty and busted up package, don't fret."

"But I don't-"

Her protests were silenced as he slammed another shoed foot into her ribcage.


	5. New Scars

**DISCLAIMER. What isn't mine isn't. For sure. All the dialogue in italics that is in long sentences is taken from the movie script. Cheers to all those that are reviewing! It means a lot to me!**

**Also, I didn't quite write the Joker's dialogue the same way a lot of people seem to do it. Just because he says it a certain way, doesn't mean it needs to be written out phonetically. I find that a little hard to read sometimes, and take seriously. You've all seen the movie. You all know how he sounds. Use your heads. **

Ugh. The sound of a pool cue hitting a ball woke her from her trauma-induced sleep, and Ann's eyes flickered open weakly. She was in a dimly lit room. It was relatively small, with a pool table in the middle, at which Gambol was playing. They were alone, though there was no way to facilitate conversation. Her mouth had a thick strip of duct tape across it, one that went around her face and was tangled in her messy blond hair. There were bits of blood caked at the tips of her blond locks, though there was more on her chin and chest. It had dried since her rather savage beating the night before, but that didn't mean she was in any less pain. Her hands were bound behind her back, also with duct tape, and she was sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair. Her sheer tights were ripped and had runs in them up her legs, and she was missing her gorgeous black heels.

It hurt to breathe. She assumed it was from the various blows to the ribs she had endured, and maybe one or two were fractured a touch. Nothing was broken, from what she could tell, but she must have looked a mess. Make-up smudged down her face from weeping, blood crackled against her pale skin, her hair a bloody nightmare... She was surprised they hadn't just shot her. Apparently Gambol still thought she was attractive enough to keep around, and had plans to send her back to her 'boss' in worse shape than she was in now.

They didn't understand that this Joker fellow wasn't her boss. Every time she pleaded and protested, they assumed she was lying, and she felt the kicks getting harder. She hadn't endured any sort of sexual abuse, thank Heavens. There was a place for small mercies at the moment. She wasn't exactly sure what the time was, but she had a feeling it was evening. The windows revealed a darkening sky, and while it might have only been the next day, she had no idea how long she had been passed out for, or what they had done to her while she was under. Her breathing was unsteady as she watched Gambol play pool. He ignored her, though he did cast a glance or two in her direction every once and a while. There was still that look of fury in his eyes whenever he gazed upon her; it was though she had done the most horrible thing imaginable to him. This wasn't even about him! This was about getting Frank back from that psychopath! Speaking of psychopaths... She had every intention of killing that bastard who set her up for this. He was probably in cahoots with the mob, and they were just having a little bit of fun with her. Or maybe this was what bosses of criminal organizations did... tried to ruin each other by killing or maiming the employees.

"_Yo, Gambol_," came a voice suddenly. Ann's eyes flickered over to the large doorway, one that evidently led off to another bar-type room."_Somebody here for you. They say they've just killed the Joker_."

"_They brought the body_," the second out of the new arrivals added. Ann shifted in her chair; if they had killed that raging lunatic that had taken Frank, then what had happened to him?! Naturally, she had assumed Frank suffered when Ann didn't show up to make the switch, but she didn't think the guy would kill him. It just seemed so... petty. Maybe he would keep him alive? Maybe he would try to see what had happened to her? But no. All hope at escape fluttered out the cracks in the blinds by the windows to her left when a body in a garbage bag was carried in and set on the pool table. She leaned forward in her chair as far as her tied arms would allow, trying to get a quick view of the man on the table. Gambol set his pool stick down and casually strolled alongside it; four other men appeared at the back of the room, dressed in street clothes. They must have been the ones that killed the clown.

She inhaled sharply when Gambol pulled off the part of the trash bag covering the man's head; it was him. This whole thing was officially over. They had probably killed Frank, and since there was no 'boss' to send her back to, they were going to kill her too! Fuck! The woman tried to shift against her bonds, with no avail, and watched helplessly as Gambol strolled along to the front of the pool table, his back to her.

"_So, dead_," he started, dusting his hands off, "_that's five hundred_-"

Her eyes widened as the supposedly dead man on the table sat up, violently stabbing Gambol's men on either side of him in the chest. The crumbled to the door as Gambol turned back, but the Joker was already on him, a knife pressed dangerously close to his mouth. He slipped the blade in the corner of the mobster's mouth, "_How 'bout alive? Hmm?_"

Although she would never admit that she was relieved to see the crazy loon alive, she was. And he seemed to have the upper hand in this whole situation. And perhaps she was heartless, but she felt nothing as Gambol's men bled out at the side of the pool table. It was disgusting, yes, but these were the same men who had partaken in her beating the previous night, and she felt no sympathy for them. Every breath she took made her chest ache, and that was all she needed to steel herself against their deaths.

"_Want to know how I got these scars?_", the painted fellow purred in Gambol's ear, leaning in close for just a moment, "_My father was... a drinker... and a fiend._"

Ann listened, though it was a strain to do so, as the man was speaking so softly. This was different than how she had heard him speak on the phone. He told a short story of how his father went crazy during a drinking binge one night, and killed his mother when she tried to defend herself with a kitchen knife. Swallowing thickly, Ann felt an ounce of compassion rise, though it was brief and momentary.

"_He comes at me with the knife,_" he carried on, the small blade slipping further and further into Gambol's mouth, "_'Why so serious?' He sticks the blade in my mouth... 'Let's put a smile on that face!' And..._"

His head cocks to the side, as though he was looking at one of Gambol's men being held down by his own a few feet away. There was a pause, and the tone of his voice changed when he spoke again. It was lighthearted this time, and he leaned forward a touch, "_Why so serious?_"

Ann squealed loudly as he ripped the blade out through Gambol's cheek, twisting his neck at the same time. There was a sickening snap, and the former mob head fell to the ground noisily. With that accomplished, the Joker slid off the pool table and removed the garbage bags, tossing them aside lazily onto Gambol.

"_Now_," he started, "_our operation is small. But... there's a lot of potential for..._" He picked up another pool cue, tossing it between his two hands, "_aggressive expansion!_"

He was dramatic, the way he spoke. Ann watched as he enunciated words with the waving of his arms, or the changes in tone and pronunciation. Definitely insane. Gambol's men looked just as nervous as she did when he insisted that there was only one spot on the "team", and that it was necessary for them to have... try-outs. She flinched as he cracked the pool cue in half over his knee, and tossed the sharper of the two down between the three henchmen.

"_Make it fast._"

Wait. Wait, he was leaving! Ann struggled in her seat as the Joker tried to step out of the way, and she let out something of a yell. Naturally, it was muffled by the duct tape, but it caught his attention. He stared at her for a moment, licked his lips, and then smirked, "Ah, right."

He turned back to her and sauntered across the room, careful not to knock into anything, it seemed, and then crouched down in front of her.

"You," he mused, cocking his head to the side, "are a terrible thief. And you _spoiled_ my one planned poetic death for Gambol. Had to use my own knife... which has so much less... _meaning_ to it."

She flinched back when his hand shot up to her face, but relaxed slightly as he grasped one end of the tape and gave it a violent rip. The woman cried out at the sting of tape being ripped from her skin, and she noticed two large clumps of hair hanging from either end. The Joker stared at it for a moment, then wrinkled his face as he shook his hand, trying to get the tape off his gloves, "Yuck..."

That disgusted him? Really? He reached round and grasped her upper arm, yanking her off the chair and began to haul her unceremoniously out of the room. Gambol's men still hadn't started to fight each other, but she heard a gun fire when they were out of the room, and the Joker let out a chuckle, "Eliminating some of the competition. One on one is _always_ more interesting."

She struggled to keep up with him, seeing as he was practically power-walking down the hallways of the building, dragging her behind him, backwards. Plus her whole body ached from mobsters' hands, and she was surprised she hadn't fallen down yet. As much as she would have liked to, it seemed like he was in a rush.

"Now I have to find something else for you to do for me," he sighed as he turned sharply into a stairwell. Ann grunted as she tried to make her footwork keep up with him on the stairs, and she ended up slipping once or twice in the process. Luckily she only ended up falling into him, and he didn't really seem to notice, "Because I kept Franklin alive in the hopes that you'd follow through-"

"He's alive?!" she finally got out, a wave of relief washing over her, "How is he?"

The man stopped abruptly, and she ended up knocking into him. He turned her around, gave her a once over, and then shrugged, "Looks better than you do... I guess that's _saying_ something, isn't it?"

She could only hold his gaze for a moment, and then had to look away. The way the make-up, though faded at the given time, made his face look was just... terrifying. The scars, evidently extremely real now that she could get a closer look at them, made her want to squirm uncomfortably. Her vibe of disgust must have been evident, and the Joker let out a snort, and then carried on.

It did occur to her that she could have struggled a bit more. After all, the man in the purple suit seemed strong and fast, but not so to the point where he was overly intimidating. In fact, if he didn't have his weapons, there were probably a lot of people out there who could take him. ... Ann wasn't one of them, or anything, but it made her feel better to think that he wasn't invincible. Her one real problem was the fact that her arms were duct taped together from her wrist to her elbow, making it difficult to wriggle out to an escape. Plus her body was a mess; even if she did manage to loosen his grip, there was no way she could run anywhere without collapsing.

She heard him shove a heavy metal door open, and instantly the pair were outside. The air was crisp, the sun had set long ago, and there was a bit of a chill against her skin. Shivering, she studied their location quickly. They were in a parking lot in the middle of several slightly run-down looking buildings, though she could hear the roar of the main road nearby. The Joker's grip tightened on her upper arm, and she felt herself being flung around so that she was standing at his right. Before her was a large, black SUV, and in the back seat she could see Frank. She let out something mixed between a sigh of relief and an exhausted sob as they made eye contact, though he didn't seem as pleased to see her as she did him. With whatever strength she had left, she struggled free from the Joker and started to rush toward him, but he held up his hands, mouthing for her to stop. She frowned at him, and continued walking forward, ignoring the way he was aggressively shaking his head. Finally, with a look that she barely understood – something mixed between defeat, selflessness and sadness – he pushed open the car door.

Seconds later, the entire SUV erupted in a swirling ball of flames. The waves from the blast slammed into her, and she ended up stumbling backward to the ground, unable to maintain any sort of balance with her tied hands.

"Frank!" she shrieked horrifically, her voice hoarse and cracking. His body had vanished from where she last saw it, but she could only assumed it was somewhere in the car, frying. Her own body felt numb, for the first time in a while, and she stared in utter horror at what only a few seconds ago was where her friend sat.

She maneuvered her legs so that she could try to stand up, as difficult as it was, and she glared as the Joker marched past her, tears streaming down her face, "How could you do this?! Why did you bring me out here to see this?!"

Her chest began to throb again as she shouted at him, but he ignored her, taking a lap around the car, a perplexed look on his face. After kicking aside from of the flaming rubble, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed a button, then raised it to his ear, "Yeah. That was the car. Get it _over_ with and get out when we have our new _teammate_."

"H-How..." she stammered, exhaustion setting in once again as she slid back down to the ground, "Why-"

"This wasn't me," he snapped when he was close enough. He reached down and grasped her arm, hauling her to her feet. When he spoke again, his tone had changed to something a little more pleasant, "Though it was pretty _ingenious_... a car bomb. Original to boo_t._"

"Frank..." she whispered, her eyes fixed on the spot where she had last seen him, "I'm so sorry-"

"You didn't do it," he mused, lugging her toward an alleyway that exited into the main road. "The mob killed your boy, _Ann_, and that's that."

Her shoulders ached as he yanked her along the alleyway, and she stared back into the parking lot, unable to accept that that had just happened. He paused at the entrance, licked his lower lip, then turned to study her, "We need a new ride now..."

"What?" she murmured, barely giving him any attention as he pondered how they were going to find a new vehicle. The flames were still so... distracting. However, before she could keep her gaze there for much longer, she found herself being hurled out onto the street, right into oncoming traffic. She screamed, terrified as the lights of a small Ford came rearing up upon her. The driver had managed to stop in time, just nudging her legs enough to make her tumble over. My, she must have looked like a sight. The driver, an older man, hastily clambered out of the vehicle, and she watched the Joker dart around the back.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" the driver called, a look of horror plain on his face as he came round to the front of the car, "I didn't see you, I swear-"

Before he could offer any sort of apology, the Joker gave him a kick from behind, causing him to stumble down onto the curb. Ann was silent, emotionally stunted maybe, as the clown grabbed her arm again and literally dragged her into the car, shoving her across the two front seats as he got in and pressed on the gas. Neither were properly in their seats as he gunned it down the road, and Ann shifted as gently as she could. Her ribs were searing, and her breathing was labored at best, though the Joker hardly seemed to notice. He glanced over his shoulder a few times, and then began using the mirror, no doubt to see if anyone had followed them.

"Where are we going?" she forced out. It was the only question that made sense in her current situation, though there were probably a zillion other things she could have said. All she wanted to do was fucking write about fashion trends and celebrities shoes, damn it! She wanted Frank back. She wanted to have never gone out that night when he suggested getting a good scoop. She wanted to be at home, curled up with a glass of wine and watching some horrible reality TV show.

"Can't tell you that," he stated as he rolled the car to a delicate stop at a traffic light, "but you'll see when you wake up."

"When I wake up..." she trailed off, shooting him a puzzled look. He shrugged his shoulders, and before she had a chance to react, slugged her right across the face with a solid fist. That did it.

Unconsciousness at last.


	6. Lonely Eggs

**DISCLAIMER, AS USUAL **

The first thing Ann smelled when she regained her consciousness was the scent of eggs. Slightly overcooked eggs. Frowning, she shifted her legs slightly, wincing as a pain throbbed around her knees and calves. That must have been where the car hit her. Her eyes were still closed, as it felt more comforting to keep them shut; they were still heavy. Everything ached, actually. She was still in her glittery dress from... how many days ago? Who knows. Her ribs ached with each breath, but not as terribly as before, which either meant she was healing, or her tolerance for pain was growing. The things that hurt the most were her arms. They were bare again, free from the duct tape, though it did not feel like it had been removed gently. Instead, when her eyelids flickered open, she first noticed that her slim, pale arms were covered in red, angry bumps and irritation from the tape. Groaning, she noted that she was laying on a rather ugly green couch, which was surprisingly soft and squishy despite its garish appearance.

Easing herself up into a sitting position, she noticed that she was in a rather large, sparsely furnished, and bleak apartment. There were giant windows that lined the left side of the room, which were tinted, but gave her a view of the docks and the gross river that drifted through the city. There was no other furniture around her. In this giant warehouse-esque room, there was the couch and a door directly across from it, which was bolted shut. With a frown, she slowly turned around to take in the rest of the room, and flinched when she noticed that she was no longer alone in the giant room. Behind her was a small kitchen set; an oven and stove, a dingy fridge, a counter with a sink and some drawers beneath it. Coupled with it was a kitchen island, at which the Joker was seated, watching her unwaveringly as he scooped a spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

He seemed different this time around. His make-up had been removed, and his greasy hair was slicked back flat against his head. She gave him a quick once over, and from what she could see, he had lost the suit and was clad in a simple white T, though she couldn't see beneath the table to judge the rest of his outfit. ... Shut up, she liked clothes, all right? Reaching up, gently, she ran a hand through her matted hair and winced; God, she was a mess.

"Hi," she started, her voice crackling weakly from lack of use. He arched an eyebrow, slowly chewing his mouthful of egg, and then cocked his head to the side, still watching her. Drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch, she awkwardly cleared her throat as silence filled the gap between them. Clearly he thrived on the discomfort in the room, and after a moment or so of continued staring, he returned to his eggs. With a slight roll of her eyes, she gingerly pushed herself off the couch and onto slightly unstable legs. A dizzying feeling followed, one reminiscent of standing too quickly after laying flat for some time. Once that had cleared up, she sauntered toward the island, regaining her confidence in her walking abilities as she went. When she was close enough, she placed her hands on the smooth countertop of the make-shift table, eyes down at the eggs, and then back to his face, "Your eggs are burnt."

Being up close, she could see the faint thickness of skin surrounding the scars on his cheeks, and they became even more shockingly real without colour to cover them up. The story of how he got them – his father carving his face like a Halloween pumpkin – was mortifying, at best.

"Burn_t_ is usually better," he stated, his voice deep and rasping. She flinched when he lifted his fork to her, and then arched an eyebrow. "Want to try?"

She cleared her throat, "I'm fine, thank you."

"You won't be disappointed."

He leaned forward, bringing the fork closer to her mouth, as though he was completely disregarding her previous refusal. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that flickered when she opened her mouth to refuse again, and she quickly swallowed her words and leaned forward across the island, tentatively biting the eggs off the fork. Just as she had suspected; disgusting. And burnt. He grinned toothily as she forced it down, along with a weak smile. There was a childish look of glee somewhere beneath that jagged exterior, and he suddenly let out a snort, "You'd do just about _anything_ I asked you to do right about now, huh?"

Taken back, she straightened up and frowned, "No."

"We'll see," he chuckled, stabbing a few larger pieces somewhat violently, "especially when you hear what I've got to say. ...I think you'll come around."

It was at that very moment that she felt a somewhat aching feeling in her bladder. Fuck, she needed a toilet. She probably had only used one once or twice in the past two days, and although her body had been brilliant at holding it in while she was laying down, gravity was taking its toll, and she wouldn't be able to hold it much longer. Her cheeks flushed a crimson colour, and she awkwardly crossed her arms over her chest, "Can I... shower?"

He pointed to a small door to their right with his fork, a bit of egg flying at her as he did so, "Hot water lasts for ten minutes. Don't waste it."

Shuffling toward the door, she slipped inside quickly, flicked on the light and literally fell onto the disgusting looking toilet. Beggars can't be choosers, right? A lengthy sigh of relief slipped through her parted lips and she leaned back, ignoring whatever bruised pain on her body and focusing on the sweet, sweet relief of a now empty bladder. Once finished, she pushed the toilet lever with one finger, and felt a sharp pang of worry as the weak swirl just barely managed to clear the bowl. Stupid, but it's always so embarrassing when you are at someone else's place and the toilet doesn't flush properly. While rinsing off her hands in the paint splattered, once white sink, she took a second or so to study her face in the dirty mirror. Her lower lip was cracked open, but healing. Her usually elegantly kept blonde hair was rebelling away from her head with a vengeance. The make-up she had applied... God knows how long ago was officially tattooed to her face, and there was a rather lovely stream of dried blood that had dribbled down from her nose and mouth along her cheeks and chin. Fantastic. But it definitely would have been more horrifying to wake up completely clean and scrubbed, because who knows what someone can do to you when you are unresponsive.

Lined up along the sink, she noticed there were packets of white, red and black paint. They were all open, messily kept in a mockery of a line and normalcy, like the make-up in her bathroom. Stepping back, she ducked her head under the sink and opened up the small cabinet, and pulled out the only clean looking towel from the pile. Wrinkling her nose, she casually brushed off some of the grim on it, and then set it on the sink, along with her gold dress and her undergarments. Shivering as the chilled air touched every inch of her skin, she quickly scuttled to the shower, turned the handle toward the hottest setting. Steam signaled that it was ready, and she hastily slipped inside, pulling the curtain shut behind her.

Although she knew it was good for her skin, the water hurt her. It bit at her healing cuts, and burned her as it got progressively hot in a matter of seconds. She found it difficult to raise her arms enough to try and detangle her hair. The shower stall was small, only enough room for one, and she turned around in it twice to see if she had somehow missed the shampoo bottle somewhere. Maybe it was blending into the wall or something… Unfortunately, it seemed as though he had no body products there, which was depressing. In this situation, it didn't seem like water was going to be enough to get the filth off her from the previous few days. Instead, she stood there and simply let the water run over her. Her legs could barely support her thin frame, and she was sure it would take a few days until she felt anywhere close to normal again, but she would simply have to play the waiting game.

Suddenly, the water went frigid, and Ann let out a shriek. She turned back hastily and fumbled with the nozzles, finally getting it off. The cold air sucked the life right out of her, and she leaned against the wall, exhausted.

"I told you the hot water cut off," she heard from the other side of the curtain, which caused her to stiffen. Why was he in the bathroom, while she was naked? Actually? Was this happening? Gathering her wits up the best she could, Ann grasped the curtain shakily and then pulled it aside, wrapping it a little around her body to keep his view limited.

"W-What are you doing?" she stammered. He was simply standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself.

He sighed, and then cocked his head to the side, "Preparing."

"For what?"

His eyes rolled over to her lazily, and then licked his lips, "The day."

"Oh," Ann remarked, eyebrows knitted. "Could you… Could you pass me my towel then?"

"_Your_ towel?"

"The towel I'm borrowing," Ann said quickly to correct herself. He smirked, and then picked up the towel and tossed it at her. He seemed completely ignorant to the fact that she was naked behind there. Every other man she had spent time around jumped at the chance to see a naked woman, or just get a peak of cleavage, or something… He, on the other hand, had gone back to staring at himself in the mirror. After drying herself off quickly, she wrapped the towel snugly around her body, and then gingerly stepped out.

Instead of looking at her, he scooped out a goop of white paint and began dabbing it onto his face. Just as women did their make-up first thing in the morning, it seemed that the Joker had his own make-up routine as well. Ann watched him momentarily, her eyes fixated on the way he drew the make-up around his lips and nose, over his scars, and she frowned.

"You know, stuff like that is _really_ bad for your pores."

He paused, and then shot her a look in the mirror, eyebrows raised. The blonde flushed brightly upon realizing that the comment had just sort of rolled off her tongue without thinking. It was just such common knowledge that stage paint like that fucked up your skin in irreversible ways, especially when it seemed like he had no proper skin care regime.

"I'm sorry, but it does," she managed.

"I'll make it a top _priority_ to find less _damaging_ make-up to hide my shame in the future," he snorted, and then resumed his previous applying. Nibbling on her lower lip and feeling a bit awkward, Ann picked up her gold dress and examined it. Sequins were missing, it was stained with blood, and was nowhere near comfortable enough to wear at the moment. Slipping into it was going to be painful, and she knew it.

"I don't have anything to wear," Ann stated as she tucked the dress under her arm.

"There's a shirt and a pair of pants on the futon," he remarked casually as he moved on to adding dark rings around his eyes. She stared at him blankly for a moment, and when he seemed to have moved on from giving her any attention, she slipped out of the bathroom quietly. This was… weird. Technically, she was a hostage, or kidnap victim, or whatever, being held against her will. However, she also knew that the man holding her could be classified as insane, and while he was around, she wasn't about to push her luck and end up dead. No, she knew enough about the Gotham underworld from the newspaper to know that one needs to play their cards carefully in situations like this one. The city was full of psychopaths.

However, she couldn't just sit there helplessly. If she didn't try something, then she might not be able to forgive herself should things really go downhill in the near future. Well, _more_ downhill than it already was. After sliding into the pair of men's black pants and button-up white shirt - which were too large, but manageable - in what she could only assume was the Joker's bedroom, she silently slipped out of the room. One side of the large, empty apartment was where she had woken up. It had the kitchen area, small table, and couch. At the other end was a television on top of a small desk, and that was about it. Even though Ann appreciated the minimalist movement that many embraced these days, this was ridiculous. The man ripped off all of Gotham's mobsters; surely he had enough to add a carpet or some drapes in this place.

With her arms folded across her chest, as she was braless… The gold dress hadn't allowed for a bra, all right! Don't judge. She snuck across the apartment to the small brown door. As she undid the latch as silently as she possibly could, Ann glanced back over her shoulder. The man was still in the bathroom, as far as she could tell. Maybe he wouldn't even notice her leave? She took a deep breath, unlocked the last latch, and then soundlessly turned the doorknob. It creaked slightly, and she glared at it, urging it to be silent, for her sake. Another look over her shoulder, and there was still nothing. She took that as a sign that freedom was imminent, and dragged the door open. Unfortunately, it seemed like it was going to have to wait for another day. A pair of rather robust looking men stood on the other side of the door, both wearing identical suits and sunglasses. One of them raised his eyebrows, and then removed his glasses. Ann gulped, eyeing the sewn shut eye apprehensively.

"You're trying to sneak out, wearing the boss's clothes?" he inquired gruffly, looking her up and down as her wet hair dribbled down her back. "Honey... He will cut your throat in your sleep."

She opened her mouth, her brain begging her to plead for her release with the men. However, her saner side reasoned that neither of them were going to let her go, so she may as well not even try. Instead, Ann shut the door without another word.

"Going somewhere?"

Ann flinched and backed away from the door, "No!"

"Oh good," the Joker snorted, head cocked as he gazed at her. "That would be rude."

She nibbled on her lip as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, "What… What are you going to do with me?"

He grinned, "I thought, since you didn't get me my knife, you could work off your debt."

"My debt?" Ann repeated with a frown, "I… I haven't done anything! You took _my _friend, who was then killed by the mob…"

"Don't you want to help me get them back?" he asked, "Make them _suffer_?"

It was a tempting thought. The journalist in Ann, as minimal as it was, suddenly shifted in excitement at the thought of tackling Gotham's mob with a man who could actually get something done. But something wasn't sitting right.

"I don't get it… Am I paying off a debt, or getting revenge for Frank?"

"Why can't it be both?" the Joker mused. She blinked in response, and he turned around abruptly, sauntered toward the beaten up couch, and then picked up the purple jacket that had been resting over the arm.

"Both-"

"Whatever makes you sleep at night," he crooned as he pulled the jacket on, shooting her a wink, to which she recoiled. He snorted, and then ran a hand through his greasy hair, "I've got a busy day ahead of me… Lots to do and destroy…"

She rocked back and forth on her heels, and then nodded, "So, should I just… sit here?"

"Somewhere better to _be_, Busy Bee?"

"Well, no, but … maybe," she stammered as she watched him march around the small apartment, shoving things in his pockets as he went, "I mean, my boss is probably wondering where I am. And I have … I have friends who are also probably wondering why I'm not answering texts."

"Those don't sound like things to do, really," he stated. "Why don't you take the day off? Watch some TV? Kick back… I don't need you just yet, anyway."

"Oh," she muttered, and then squealed when she barely caught the TV remote when he tossed it at her. He then disappeared back into the bedroom, and she sauntered over toward the TV. They would have to discuss getting her proper clothing at some point, but the way he was marching around the apartment made her think that this probably wasn't the best time. She pressed the power button and sighed as the screen came to life. It was programmed to the news channel, and she paused before flicking away from it. Ann stared at the screen, stunned. Police officers were dragging mobsters out of their cars, houses, and bars and up the steps of various precincts around Gotham. She saw a few heavy hitters lugged up the steps, and she wondered if this was going to do anything to throw a wrench into the Joker's plans.

However, she didn't need to ponder the question long. She flinched at the sound of breathing next to her ear, and stepped away when the Joker snatched the remote out of her hands. He cranked the volume, staring at the screen unblinkingly as the newscaster explained that key law figures like Dent and Gordon were ready to clean up Gotham's streets at last. Ann scoffed; they've been trying to clean up the streets since she was just a kid, and so far all their efforts had been wasted. The woman opened her mouth to tell the Joker that, thinking he might get a kick out of it, seeing as he was sort of the scum they were all talking about. However, the look on his face suggested anything but humour would be accepted at the moment. He looked momentarily enraged. Lips pursed, eyebrows knitted, eyes squinted at the screen, he suddenly hurled the remote against the wall, which made Ann scream in surprise. The remote shattered noisily and parts cascaded to the ground.

"Dent…" he sneered, "_Dent_ ruins everything."

He stormed across the room, ripped open the door, and then slammed it shut. She heard locks clicking behind him, and Ann did a quick look around the apartment. Although she hadn't noticed it before, Ann now saw that there were bars across the large windows. When she hastily looked through the peephole on the front door, she groaned when she saw one of the goons was still standing on the other side. At that point, she realized she was helplessly alone, and there wasn't a soul out there who could actually help her.

It was a horribly, horribly depressing thought.


	7. Fish and Chips

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I'm not completely sure what the timeframe of the movie was between certain events. So, that might be off. It all seems to happen within the span of a few days, and that doesn't really allow me a lot of extra time to do things. I'm not going to add months between events, but maybe an extra two days or so… It seems more realistic to give the Joker some time to actually get his shizz together.**

**Much love to all the readers and those who take the time to review!**

* * *

"This can't be all I'm good for," Ann grumbled as she pulled another joker card from what appeared to be the thousandth deck of cards she had gone through that day. The Joker looked up from her across the table, his dark eyes a strange mixture of irritation and amusement.

"Would you like to switch jobs?" he inquired, holding out the scissors and newspaper he was cutting for her to take. She paused for a moment, and knew full well that he loved to use this mockery of politeness on her. However, she was sick of looking through decks of cards to find him an endless supply of joker cards.

"All right," she agreed as she set the deck down on the table. She then pushed the unopened packages of cards toward him, and accepted the newspaper and scissors when he handed them to her.

"Make sure they look pretty," he grunted. Ann shot him a look, and then glanced at his own pile of cut up letters. They all looked awful; half the letter was missing on some of them. Clearly he had failed arts and crafts as a child.

"I'll try my best," she sighed as she began carefully snipping out the 'A' of the title of the _Gotham Times_ issue from last Tuesday. "I feel like you should have henchmen to do this sort of stuff."

"I told you, we're a small operation. Everyone's gotta pitch in."

"But…" she started, "I don't even understand why I'm doing any of this."

"It's all on a need to know," Joker remarked casually. He flipped through the deck with ease, and then produced two joker cards before he tossed the remaining cards onto the ground beside him. She frowned. At least she had been neat in her duties, as evidenced by the immaculate pile of cards to her left.

After storming out the previous morning, Joker was gone for most of the day. Ann continued to watch the news, and she learned that most of the major mob gangs were being brought into prison, but news reporters speculated that the bigwigs would be out as soon as their bail was paid. The court system wouldn't be able to handle this many criminals all at once, which was bound to make Joker happy. After the news died down a little, she spent the remainder of the day flicking between channels. She had tried to move the couch across the apartment so that she could sit on it to watch her shows, but her frail body could barely move it half an inch. Instead, she managed to drag a stool over, and uncomfortably used that for the remainder of her time alone.

Joker returned in the late afternoon with a truckload of supplies. She had watched two large vans pull up to their building through the massive windows, and for about an hour he unloaded them with a gang of other men into what appeared to be a warehouse below. Ann couldn't really make out what anything was, mostly because it was all in boxes and crates, so she was in the dark when it came to predicting what he was up to. Really, with her journalist background, she ought to be better at this sleuthing business, but the more she thought back to it, Frank was the one who found all the leads. He did most of the heavy work whenever they investigated something, and Ann usually had the difficult task of typing up two copies that were different enough to look like they had both written a report. Not that Frank was a slacker, but his writing really wasn't good enough for their boss to keep him around, and Ann would have been sad to see him go. A, because he was her friend, and B, she would lose all her good stories if he was gone.

Frank. Ann had to do everything in her power not to think about Frank, or she'd break down. In fact, Ann did everything in her power just to live in the moment. That was how she was going to survive with this nutcase. She couldn't dwell on the fact that she was a prisoner. No, she had to roll with the punches. Whatever came next, adapt. So when her captor entered the apartment with too many boxes to carry, Ann silently grabbed the top one – which seemed like it was the lightest – and helped him lug everything over to the table. If he was pleased that she had accepted her fate, he didn't show it. Instead, he told her there were a couple more boxes in the hallway, and she could help the other guys carry them in. That was fun. Especially with what she assumed was a fractured rib, but somehow she managed.

After that, Joker asked her to make them something to eat. The only thing in the apartment that looked remotely unspoiled were the two cartons of eggs in the fridge, so Ann made plain omelettes. He was quite upset that neither of them were burned, and insisted that they lacked true 'flavour' without black crusts. Naturally, she disagreed with him, but she wasn't about to cause an argument between them. Instead, she volunteered to let everything burn the next time she made something for him, to which he agreed. The next morning, after a night of uneasy sleep on the couch, Ann had a chance to redeem her cooking in his eyes, and burned all the scrambled eggs, just for him. He was infinitely pleased, and even took the time to fill her in on their task for the day; cutting out letters and finding joker cards. There was no explanation as to why they were doing that, nor did he answer her questions about what he had brought into the warehouse the day before, but at least she wasn't tied up somewhere being tortured. Things could be worse.

Right?

Anyway. It was getting close to dinner, and she hadn't had anything to eat since that rather dismal plate of eggs that morning. Her stomach screamed at her irritably every so often, and she could feel herself getting lightheaded from lack of food. Something needed to be done, and she wasn't about to try whatever else was growing in his cupboards. He hadn't been completely terrible to her today. In fact, he had treated her much in the same way he treated the other henchmen she had seen him interact with. He had a tendency to talk down to them, usually sarcastically, but seemed genuinely interested in using them to get a task accomplished quickly. They weren't exactly equals in this gang, but the men were not lowly criminals and Joker the rich mobster. No, there was a different dynamic here, especially when comparing it to Gambol and his men, and Ann almost considered herself lucky to be stuck with him.

Almost being the key word, mind you.

Therefore, because he didn't have her tied up in some dusty cell, and had trusted her enough to take the rather large pair of scissors from him – with which she could easily inflict some sort of damage – she assumed that she could take some liberties with the way she spoke to him. Only a few though; she wasn't about to push her luck too far.

"So I was thinking," she started as she carefully curved the scissors around a headline's 'D'. "Maybe we should… you know, get some food in here."

"There is food," he grunted while studying a joker card with particular interest. "You don't like eggs?"

"I just think that isn't a proper diet," Ann explained carefully. "You need a fully balanced diet to be… active and… alert."

He stared at her blankly over the top of his card, and then went back to examining it, as though he hadn't even heard her. Ann sighed, and then set the scissors and newspaper down.

"Look, I'll do what you want to … to… pay off my debt, or whatever," she reasoned, "but I'm a mess inside from Gambol, and I need something other than eggs if I want to heal, and actually be of any use."

"You don't need your insides functional to cut out letters," he growled ominously while he unwrapped a new package of cards. She hastily resumed her previous work.

"Yes, well, I suppose not," she replied with a slight gulp. "But I'm sure all the others have the freedom to go get their own food… Obviously you won't give me that-"

"I don't trust you just yet."

"Right, so maybe you and I could go get something to eat. We're by the docks… I'm sure there are little… fish and chip shacks somewhere around here!"

She hated fish, and would never voluntarily eat anything that came out of the waters of Gotham, but it was the most logical thing she could think of off the top of her head.

"So like a date, huh?" he teased.

"No!" Ann said quickly, her cheeks reddening at the thought of doing _anything_ romantic with him. He frowned, a mockery of hurt, and then placed a hand on his heart.

"So crushed…" Joker groaned, "My poor heart. Whatsa' matter, am I not as pretty as the guys you normally go for?"

She shifted awkwardly, all the while knowing full well he was getting a kick out of making her squirm. He seemed like the type of guy that got off on things like that, from what she had seen of him. Ann cleared her throat, "I just… I just thought…"

"It seems like a dangerous thing when you think," he snorted. "Try not to do it too much, huh?"

She nodded and continued to cut out letters, all the while watching him out of the corner of her eye. It seemed as though he was contemplating her suggestion, so now was the time to let him think, rather than prod for a resolution like Ann usually did with men. They sat in silence for a long time, and Ann was nearly through with the entire sports section by the time he finally spoke again.

"We'll go when you finish the rest of the newspaper," he informed her, and her stomach gave a triumphant growl. From there, she worked feverishly through the newspaper, cutting out all the headlines quickly and snipping the letters so that they were separated neatly. They weren't as nice as they could have been, especially if she had taken her time, but the thought of any sort of nutrients other than eggs was enough to propel her forward. It only took her another ten minutes to get through the task, and when she was finished, she set everything down neatly and stared at him, her legs jiggling with excitement to get up for food.

He took his time to gather up his things, which included a roll of cash, his purple jacket, and a brown sweater for her to wear over the same clothes she had been wearing since the previous day. That was going to be the next thing she planned on discussing with him. There was no way she could spend the rest of… well, who knows how long… just in a pair of men's pants and a shirt. It was unhealthy to go without underwear for longer than a day, in her opinion, and she hated walking around without a bra on. Not that her breasts were big enough to cause her any problems, or anything… but erect nipples are kind of embarrassing.

"All right, let's go," he grumbled as he dangled a set of keys from his hand. She darted out the door after him, squishing between the two bodyguards on the other side without fearing them this time. Ann also realized she wasn't wearing shoes, but that wasn't exactly a problem right now. She would tackle that issue later. Everything in stride.

They moved soundlessly through the corridor, which had no other doors in it, and then down a rather narrow spiral staircase into what appeared to be a large garage. There were dozens of discrete vans lined up inside it, and Joker picked the one closest to the exit. She climbed into the passenger's side and buckled herself in as he did the same on the other side of the bench. There had to be other parts to this warehouse, because she didn't see any of the crates anywhere as they drove through the side door.

"So where is this place?"

Ann frowned and looked over at him, "I… I don't know."

"Didn't you say there was one around here?"

"I don't live at the docks," she argued without really thinking, her arms folded across her chest. "I said there _should_ be one around here…"

He glared at her for a moment, and then continued to drive in silence along the edge of the harbour. With her eyes peeled for a snack shack somewhere, she hoped this hadn't pushed him too far. He could always get out and toss her into the river with cement blocks on her feet, or whatever mobsters did to people these days.

"Oh look!" she exclaimed suddenly, which startled her companion a little. She pointed toward a rustic looking wooden shack at the edge of a dock. It looked more like a hot dog stand than a restaurant, but from the giant blue fish perched on top she assumed they sold something of substance. He steered the van gently in the direction of the shack, and then stopped a good distance away. Ann watched as he pulled the wad of cash out from his pocket, peeled off a few bills, and then handed it to her.

"I don't like fries," he stated as she quickly counted the amount he gave her. "So see if they have something else."

"All right," Ann replied, noting that he had given her three fifty dollar bills without even a thought. "Am I just getting food for us, or should I get something for the other guys?"

He paused for a moment, considering her suggestion, and then shook his head, "I'm sure their moms pack them a lunch. Go."

Pushing the large handle downward, Ann stumbled out of the van, wincing when her feet touched the little bits of rock on the road.

"Oh, and Ann?" he called. She stopped and looked back at him before slamming the door, "Try to run and you'll learn what it feels like to be road kill. Understand?"

She licked her lips and nodded, then slammed the door shut. Naturally, she did have plans of running at first, but she then realized that he could run her down without a second thought, and then carry on as though nothing had happened. A quick glance back showed her that the van had no license plate, so even if someone had seen the murder, they wouldn't be able to report it. So, she rethought her desperate escape plan, and figured it would just be fish and chips for now.

"Hi, honey," a rather weathered looking older woman greeted as she strolled up to the shack. "What can I get for you today?"

Ann did a quick glance at the menu, but with the Joker's eyes on her back, she didn't really want to take that long. She could also feel the server giving her a once over, and she realized she must have looked like an absolute fright. Her face was puffy, make-up-less, and her hair had tangled without a proper brush to tend to it after her shower.

"Can I get two number ones please?" she asked, "But one can't have fries… Can we do like… onion rings or something?"

"Not a problem. That'll be six dollars."

"Really?" she asked absently, slightly taken back, "That's it?"

"Do fishermen look like they have money to spend on this crap?" the woman snorted as Ann handed her over a fifty. "It'll be ready in two minutes."

"The faster the better," Ann commented as she glanced back at the truck.

"Everything all right with you, hun?"the woman asked as she handed back Ann's change, "You aren't wearing shoes."

"Oh, that, yes," she rambled, looking down at her bare feet. "We've … We've been driving a while, so I just had them off. They're in the van."

"Right…"

Ann shoved the money back in her pocket and tried to smooth down her ratty hair, drumming her fingers anxiously on the counter. In just under two minutes, the woman handed her a bag with two packages in it. She thanked her, and then quickly scuttled back over to the van. Once inside, Joker turned the van around and headed back down the river's edge, and finally came a stop at a spot that overlooked the downtown area across the water. He snatched the bag from her hands and began unpacking the contents.

"One should have onion rings, and one should have fries," she explained as he opened up the packages, and then tossed the one he didn't want at her. They dug into the meals heartily, and Ann had to force herself to stop between each bite so she wouldn't devour the entire thing in a minute or so.

Looking at where they were, this was kind of like a date. The two of them, alone, food, overlooking the river at a scenic location… Almost makes one forget that she was in the presence of a psycho who dressed up like a clown on a daily basis. Almost.

"So…" she started, trying to ease the somewhat awkward silence that had taken over.

"We don't need to have small talk," he grunted as he shoved an onion ring in his mouth. "Though, speaking of which… What did you two girls chat about back there?"

"She noticed I had no shoes," Ann replied. "Which sort of leads in to what I wanted to talk to you about next… I feel like I need some other clothes."

He looked across the bench at her, the same look he had given her when she insisted that she ought to get something real to eat. Maybe he would give in to this inquiry too.

"I thought that maybe you'd like your clothes back at some point, and I don't really have anything to wear…"

She trailed off the moment she noticed he had gone off into a thought trance all of his own. His eyes were unfocused, and he kept chewing despite the fact that he had already swallowed his mouthful.

"That isn't a terrible idea," he commented after a moment or so of consideration. He set down his food and put the van in reverse, backing away from the water's edge. "I've found another way for you to be useful…"

"Oh?"

"Not tonight," he continued as they sped down the harbour and off onto the main road, "but … Yeah, I think you'll do nicely."

"Glad to be of service," she squeaked as they cut off another truck. He wasn't all painted up like a freak-show today, so when passing drivers flipped him off, they probably had no idea who they were insulting. She tried to figure out where they were going based on the landmarks, but he had taken her to somewhere just on the cusp of Gotham, which wasn't an area she frequented often now that she was an adult with her own downtown apartment. The van shook as he drove over the curb and into the alley beside a building, one that she had seen with a storefront window display when they drove past it. He yanked the keys from the ignition, and then reached behind his seat and retrieved a rather large, thick gun. Ann flinched away from him, her hand on the door handle, and he rolled his eyes.

"Oh relax, it's not for you," he chuckled. "Let's go."

While it might not have been for her right now, it was a pretty obvious statement what could be her fate if she took off running. Although she hadn't seen him use a gun yet, Ann had a sinking suspicion that he was a damn good shot. She followed him onto the street momentarily, which was pretty empty aside from a few people on the other side, who ignored the pair. Ann stuck close to him as he pulled open the door, a small bell announcing their arrived, and then fired the gun in the air. The store clerks, all women, and a few customers screamed loudly. Ann joined them, her hands covering her ears and head as bits of ceiling cascaded down on them.

"Everyone who doesn't work here can either leave, or eat a bullet," he barked. The pair stepped out of the way as five or so women hurried out of the shop. There were two store clerks at the counter, and the man had his gun on them. "Press the silent alarm… See what happens. I'm sure the décor could use bits of brain splattered everywhere… Give it a festive touch!"

The younger of the women let out a sob, and Ann pressed her fingers to her ears again as Joker began shooting out the various cameras positioned around the store. The last place he shot up was the cash register.

"I won't be able to give you any money now," the older woman, no doubt the manager, explained. He shrugged.

"Not here for money. My girl needs new clothes. I want you," he pointed at the younger, more visibly distressed woman, "to take her around and get her whatever she wants. And you can start putting stuff in bags when I give it to you."

Ann pitied the sales associate as she just stood there, no doubt immobilized by fear, and the Joker rolled his eyes, "Come on, come on, come on… We don't have all day!"

He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out from around the counter, and thrust her toward Ann, "Don't go overboard."

She nodded and turned around quickly, her eyes scanning the racks to pick out things that wouldn't take much to find her proper size. She went toward a pile of jeans and began rummaging through, grabbing two that fit her, and then gave them over to her newfound attendant.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered to the girl. "Just do what he says and you'll be fine."

The girl whimpered, but said nothing else. Ann then went to find a few shirts of various sleeve lengths, and stocked up on underwear, socks, and some bras. She grabbed a jacket, and then a hairbrush and some make-up from the accessories area. As much as she knew she didn't really need the make-up, she couldn't go for long without it. She realized at that point that her materialism was a little bit depressing.

"What size are you?" Joker called from the dress area at the other side of the store. Ann frowned.

"I'm a small… Why?"

"Red or blue?" she heard him ask the sales woman. She peered over the racks of clothing and saw him holding up two different dresses for the older woman to look at.

"The red would look better with her skin tone if you want a dress of that calibre," the woman replied through pursed lips.

"Such _wonderful_ customer service!" the man laughed manically, tossing the dress at the woman to be bagged, "Ann, find heels to go with that."

"I… Fine," she managed as she hurriedly marched over to the shoe racks, scanning through them to find a pair of black ones that would go with the dress. Ideally, she would have taken her time to find the perfect pair, but she had a feeling this wasn't going to be like her ideal shopping trip. Instead, she picked out a classic plain pair that were sure to fit, if not stretch to her feet, and then also snatched up a pair of flats for more casual wear.

To be honest, she wasn't even really sure what she was going to need while in captivity. Some sort of agenda for the upcoming week would have been nice. Anyway. She hurried back over to the counter and handed the older woman the two pairs of shoes she had picked out.

"Money," Joker said suddenly as he snapped his fingers at her. She flinched as though he had smacked her, and then reached into her pockets and pulled out the clump of cash he had given her earlier. He snatched it away and pushed it onto the counter, and then handed her the two bags. One was filled with the clothing that she had picked out, but a quick glance in the other showed some items that he seemed to have grabbed for her.

"Ladies, you've been wonderful," he cooed as he grasped Ann by the arm and hauled her toward the door, his large gun still aimed at the youngest of the pair, "I hope to see you again one day."

And then came that laugh. That horrible, horrible laugh that made Ann's skin want to shrivel. It was going to be a laugh that none of them would forget for the rest of their lives, no matter how desperately they tried.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**So I'm not sure how I feel about this. I like it, though I'm not really sure where it came from in my brain. I think it's cute Joker interaction in a way that's not him being pervy and all… 'actually everything I'm doing will somehow, in the end, make us sex' like some stories are. Even though I personally like those stories – guilty pleasure, what can I say? – I really want to do him some justice. He may not be as crazy as he ought to be, but I'm basing his personality off of multiple different abnormal psychology symptoms, and therefore he won't ALWAYS be insane and carving people up. Plenty of that for the future. Also, I feel like if he can deal with Harley in the comics, he is more than able to form some sort of a relationship, whatever it is at this point, with Ann.**

**Anyway. Hope you're still enjoying!**


	8. Killer Thriller

Ann stared at the pile of clothes in the corner of her "new apartment". After their little shopping adventure, Joker seemed on edge. He had been gone for the entire previous day, and Ann once again forced herself to flick through the television hourly to find something to pass the time. She was allowed to leave their shared flat and explore the warehouse below, but only the main parking garage. All of the other little rooms were off limits, and Joker's cronies made sure she knew exactly where her boundaries happened to be. None of the other men really posed a threat to her; occasionally they would ask her for help unloading boxes off of the incoming trucks if there were fewer guys on the floor, but otherwise their interaction was relatively limited. The two body guards who stood outside her door had also gone with Joker for the day, which meant when she was on the top floor of the warehouse, she was completely alone.

She knew very well that if she tried to make contact with the outside world and failed to bring in a rescuer, Joker would probably kill her. However, that didn't mean she hadn't made any attempts on her down time. After a very thorough search of the apartment, Ann was disappointed that there were no other electrical devices that she could use to get in touch with the authorities. Joker kept a cell phone in his pocket at all times, though she had only seen him use it once or twice while she had been involved with him – which, at this point, was nearly two weeks. He also had a laptop, but Ann had only seen the other cronies using it down in the warehouse on occasion, and then it disappeared into one of the forbidden rooms in the massive structure.

Now that she had other clothes to wear, Ann definitely felt more comfortable. Not that she was ever not on edge around Joker, but it helped to have a clean bra and fresh set of underwear to put on with each passing day. She still needed to work on getting food in the house, especially if she was going to be stuck here for the long haul. With the way the man handled his business, and how well the security around the place appeared, Ann was pretty sure she was going to be here for quite some time. It was difficult at first, but she had come to accept it, and carried on much as she had done before; adapt and survive. She was a Gotham girl at heart, and therefore knew that survival was in her blood. However, she did hope that her parents, or someone out there, had filed a report with the police that she was missing. It certainly wasn't in her character to be out of touch for this long, and surely someone knew that something was wrong.

That morning, Joker had chattered nonstop about the 6 o'clock evening news. He discussed every news anchor with her, and who she thought was the most dramatic while Ann burned eggs in a pan for him. In all honesty, Ann rarely watched the news. She preferred celebrity news programs, and while she had to read the news section in competing papers for her job, she wasn't one for watching it on TV. Most of the time, it came across as way too depressing. Why would anyone want to sit around for an hour, become depressed over world events, and then end the night with a boring round of sports? Joker seemed oblivious to her lack of knowledge, and she guessed he chalked up her unresponsiveness to the fact that he had dragged her out of her sleep at 5 am that morning to begin their day. Aside from random, scattered conversation about the main news channel in Gotham, Joker hardly gave anything away about his plans for the day, and after he inhaled his breakfast, the man was gone before the sun was up. Once she was sure he had really left, Ann crashed for another two hours of sleep.

When she woke again, she showered quickly, changed into a fresh pair of clothes – fitted faded jeans with tasteful holes and a purple button-up shirt – and set to making herself some lunch. She had two options; left-over fish from their most recent venture to the fast-food stand, or eggs. Fish won out eventually, and as Ann punched the timer on the microwave, she heard the familiar roar of Joker's personal delivery truck come speeding back down the marina wharf. Two other nondescript vans followed him, and she cocked her head to the side curiously as she watched them through the barred windows. Once her fish had been heated, Ann grabbed a fork and the plastic take-out container that her seafood came in, and then sauntered out of the apartment to the garage below. Because she had a relatively free reign of the place, Ann liked to take advantage of it when she could, and although Joker was clearly insane, she was a little interested into what he had planned for Gotham. It seemed that with his mob dealings blown to shreds after Dent's arrests, he was taking things a little more seriously.

She scooped a forkful of fish into her mouth as Joker flung open the door to his van, and did a bit of dramatic leap from it. Arching an eyebrow, she tried to both keep her distance and stand at a spot where she could get a good view of the action. However, if she saw one more damn box of supplies, Ann was going to head right back upstairs to avoid being asked to help carry things. However, Joker spotted her before she could get too far, and he stalked toward her with a little more of a sway in his step than she was used to seeing.

"Honey, I'm home!" he trilled, painted eyebrows shooting up when he spotted the food in her hands. "And you brought lunch! Best little homemaker I've seen so far…"

"Hey!" Ann protested irritably, but let it slide when she watched him take a rather unattractively large bite sans fork. He shoved the plastic container back in her hands, and wiped his own on his purple trousers.

"Special job for you, Busy Bee," he explained as he marched back to his van, reached in the open passenger's window, and then retrieved his laptop. "Are you good for something more challenging than physical labour and card sorting?"

"My university degree implies as much," she muttered, and then tossed the empty food container back onto the staircase. When she looked back, he was in front of her again, and the proximity of her face to his decorated one made her jump.

"Take this," Joker ordered as he shoved the computer into her hands, "and learn the software to burn a DVD."

Ann frowned, "Well, that's not really that difficult-"

"Or you could help lug some boxes of gear up to our home swee_t_ home," he offered, a hand still on the laptop, "your choice."

"I love learning about computer software," she said quickly, hugging the device close to her chest. "Just fascinates me to no end."

He smirked, one that meant he knew he had her, and then moved back to the van. Ann watched curiously as he hauled the heavy metal door open, and nearly dropped the laptop when he dragged a man out from inside. At first, she thought he had caught the mysterious Batman, Gotham's famous vigilante – or villain, as some labeled him – who took to the streets at night. After all, the man was dressed up exactly like him, but when Ann got a closer look at the fellow while the Joker lugged him unceremoniously across the garage floor, she realized he was nothing more than a look-alike. None of the other cronies seemed to be involved in the task with the Batman wannabe, and Ann watched the villain before her until he had vanished behind one of the forbidden doors. With a frown on her face, she started to move toward the door, until one of the henchmen she had come to know as Chuckles grabbed the crook of her elbow and pulled her back.

"I wouldn't," he warned and gave a nod toward the door. "Unless you wanna end up like him, I suggest you just go back upstairs."

"I don't understand," Ann started. "Who…? Where did he come from? Why is he here?"

"Let's just say the boss don't really care for the Batman," Chuckles explained tentatively, "and he don't like anyone so devoted to the winged freak as the guys who dress up like him and patrol the streets."

"Didn't even know they did that," Ann admitted, her voice shaking a touch. "What's he … What's he going to do to him?"

"You want to gory details?" the man inquired, and Ann shook her head quickly. "Didn't think so. When he asks, you hate the bat. You either hate him as much as the boss does, or he puts a bullet in your head."

"Good to know," she remarked, clutching the laptop to her chest. "Why does he hate him so much?"

"I dunno… Why does Joker do anything he does?" Chuckles snorted with a shrug. "You just do what he says, and you don't ask questions. Got it?"

"Yes," Ann replied absently, eyes still fixated on the door. They were torn away with it at the sound of a truck being backed up into the garage, and Ann remained down there only for a moment to study it. It was the largest of the vehicles in the garage, and had a lengthy trailer on the back. The slogan on it said 'Laughter is the Best Medicine' with a theme park drawn on decoratively, and she assumed from the Hyman's logo that it was stolen. With a slight roll of her eyes, Ann returned to the upper level, eager to get into the laptop. She tried valiantly, but there was no way she could crack the password to get onto Joker's wireless network around the warehouse. The signal was incredibly weak anyway, so she fiddled around with all the software she could find on the minimalist laptop for about an hour or so.

Her stomach, which clearly resented not being fed, growled loudly, and Ann was eventually driven away from the computer to make some eggs for lunch. She really wished he hadn't eaten her fish, because the thought of forcing down yet another plate of eggs was enough to make Ann gag at that point. However, somehow she managed, and as she was cleaning up the door to her new apartment flung open violently. She opened her mouth, ready with a few questions for her clowned captor, only to hastily shut it again when she saw his state.

His purple jacket had been removed, along with the signature green vest she abhorred to no end, and his white button-up dress shirt was completely covered in what she could only assume was blood. The man's hands were also a deep red colour, and it looked as though he had sweated off a lot of his make-up since she had last seen him. There was a handheld camera in his hands, which he dumped unceremoniously on the couch next to the laptop.

"Your turn now!" he giggled manically, and Ann hastily darted around the kitchen table as he took a few very quick steps toward her. "What's the matter? Something on my face?"

He began clawing at his cheeks, smearing blood across them while wiping off his traditional white paint at the same time. Ann said nothing, only stared at him, terrified. The blood hadn't come from nowhere, and it wasn't his; the Batman look-alike was probably dead or dying at this point.

"You look so… nervous," he insisted in a manner far too bubbly for his current state of dress. "More nervous than I've seen you in a little while, I think!"

Ann gasped noisily when she bumped into the back of the sofa. He darted around the table, and despite the fact it made her sound like a pathetic, squeamish girl, Ann squealed and shut her eyes when he bounced in front of her, his breath hot against her face.

"You just… You just…" he stammered, and suddenly grabbed her face with both hands. She forced her eyes shut tighter, wincing at the smell of blood and the warm feel of it against her skin.

"You just don't understand," Joker growled, shaking her head painfully until she opened her eyes, "the _thrill _of making that little light in the back of someone's eye go out. You'll see! You'll see the high it gives you!"

The blonde tried to pull her head back when he leaned in closer, and then laughed horribly in her face. It was enough to make her skin prickle. He gave her head another shake, as if for good measure, and then departed for the bathroom, no doubt to wash the blood off.

"Start burning my disk!" he shouted from the other room, "Gotta get it _hot_ on the press for six!"

Ann gulped and looked over her shoulder at the discarded video camera. That too had blood on it, and she shuddered at the thought of what she might possibly see. With shaky hands, Ann picked it up and removed the chip. With the sound of water running in the bathroom, accompanied by painfully off-key singing from Joker, she set to work, bracing herself for what lay ahead.


	9. Active Duty

On any normal occasion, Ann loved dressing up. She liked to spend the better part of her early evening trying on a plethora of dresses to see which one tickled her fancy for the night ahead. Once that was decided, she would flip through magazines to find a hairstyle that fit the outfit and occasion, while surfing the internet simultaneously to get the latest in make-up trends that she could wow her friends with. Once everything was decided, the routine of getting ready followed. This was generally accompanied by some music, a few embarrassing dance moves around her apartment, and a glass or two of some drink concoction to get the party started properly. When everything was set to go, her friends would pick her up in a cab, and they'd go screeching away to their destination to show off all the effort that was put into that night's outfit. Tonight, unfortunately, was not going to be one of those nights.

Instead, Ann was presented with the red dress that Joker had picked out for her on their shopping spree a few weeks earlier. It was the first time she had seen him in nearly three days, and while he had given _her_ the nickname 'Busy Bee' humourlessly, she felt like it was a bit of a self-reflection. The man was all over the city, sometimes leaving Gotham's borders to get what he needed. Acid. Explosives. Guns. New trucks. A few new team members. She had no idea where he was getting the funds for all this, and she wasn't about to ask. However, she had a feeling that the majority of Gotham's mobsters were supplying him in some way. Given his unrelenting hatred for the Batman, which was equalled by most mob bosses (she could assume), it was only natural that they would work together in all this.

However, she still didn't quite understand his plans, probably because she heard them second-hand from Chuckles or one of the other cronies. From what she gathered, Joker was sending a message to the masked vigilante by killing people each day he did not remove his mask. The three current targets, aside from the Batman wannabe, was the judge handling the mass cases of Gotham's mobsters, Loeb (the current commissioner of the Gotham police department), and Harvey Dent. So far, two of the assassinations had come to fruition. Only Dent remained alive.

Tonight would, apparently, remedy that. Nearly the whole crew, Ann now included, was headed down to Bruce Wayne's penthouse in the heart of Gotham, during which they would crash a Dent fundraiser and kill the man of the hour. Was Ann thrilled to be doing this? No. Would she rather stay behind and sleep her troubles away? Yes. Did she suggest this to Joker multiple times over the course of the day? Yes. Did he accept any of her offers to remain behind? No. Did he threaten her to the near point of tears? Yes. So, from that she learned that if she was asked to do something, she would do it. Besides, Ann wasn't even going to be part of any of the penthouse fun, as Joker lovingly put it. Instead, she was going to be their "ticket to the main event", hence why she had to get dressed up. Confusing? Nothing about Joker was simple, so she took one instruction at a time, and hoped that in the end she would connect the dots enough to understand whether or not this was going to get her arrested, or killed.

So Ann made herself pretty. She put on the red dress he had picked for her and studied herself in the bathroom mirror. Although she liked nearly all fashion, no matter the outlandishness of it, she was never a fan of strapless dresses on her own figure. The woman had always considered her breasts too small, and her shoulders had weird pointy bones that stuck out, no matter what her weight was at the time. Tonight, this was no exception. She tugged at the sweetheart neckline, pulling it up as it slipped down a touch with movement. However, the red _did_ look nice with her skin tone, despite the fact she had never considered the colour for her palate. It was a little short for her taste, and she assumed it was cute for someone who wasn't her height. Overall, not a terrible dress choice, but certainly not something she would have picked out for herself.

Her make-up options were limited, at best. She had managed to grab a tube of mascara while they were at the clothing shop on a whim, but that was about it. So, she used her pinky finger to smear some of Joker's black paint along the rims of her eyes, and then smudge it enough so it could look like something presentable. She could have used his red paint for her lips, but she wasn't about to come out of the bathroom looking like a clown, so she figured nude lips would be the best way to go.

"You should have your hair up."

Ann looked at the doorway in the mirror, and she spied Joker leaning against the dirty wooden frame, arms folded over his chest, face painted to the nines. She ran a hand through her wavy blonde hair, and then shrugged, "I was thinking of leaving it down. You wanted seductive."

He smirked and stepped forward, snapping a rubber band on his wrist before pulling it off. Ann nearly stepped away when he reached around and pulled her hair back, leaving her neck and shoulders exposed.

"But there is nothing more seductive than the nape of a woman's neck," he insisted quietly, uncharacteristically so, and then began to loop the elastic around the high ponytail he had made. She winced silently as the texture of the rubber band tugged at individual hairs, but remained still. After all, his shouting episode at her earlier in the day while she tried to get out of the night's events was enough to keep her in line, regardless of how uncomfortable he made her. When he finished, the clown reached around front again and pulled out a few bits of hair from the front and tucked them behind her ear.

"There," the man chuckled as he took a step back to look her up and down. "Good enough to eat!"

She frowned and shot him a look in the mirror, "Thank you?"

He glanced down at his watch, and then began to push her out of the bathroom by the waist, "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go… The party started without us."

"Wait I need my shoes!" she grumbled as she barely managed to hook her finger under the straps of her black high heels on their way out. Now that he realized he was running a little late, he was a man on a mission, and Ann only just got her shoes on by the time they reached the stairwell that led down to the garage.

"So what do we think boys?" Joker inquired to the group of cronies hanging around his signature white van. He gave Ann a shove forward into the limelight, "Would you fuck her?"

Her jaw dropped as she glared back at him, stunned by the vulgarity of his question as his henchman laughed cruelly.

"Sure thing, boss!"

"Yeah, I would."

"Dressed like that, yeah."

"She'd need a little more meat on her…"

"I'm afraid you'd have to take her as is," Joker snorted, clearing enjoying her humiliation as her cheeks glowed a bright red. "Let's roll, gentlemen… and lady."

His men moved quickly, each leaping into the back of the van with a clown mask or sheer stocking in hand without the slightest hesitation. Joker ushered her toward the front cab of the vehicle, where she sat in between him and another one of his cronies who was driving for the night. Although he had his own van, Joker seemed to prefer other people to drive him around, unless they were by themselves, which hadn't happened since their shopping venture. Ann folded her arms over her chest moodily as she stared dead ahead out the windshield of the van and ignored the conversation between Joker and his driver. About ten minutes out from the marina, the chatter died down between the men.

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss," Joker laughed as he pinched her sharply on her bare arm, which earned him another glare. "You've got an important role tonight… Biggest of your life, so I want a performance."

"You still haven't told me what I'm doing," Ann muttered, readjusting her dress self-consciously. "I'm not sleeping with anybody."

"No one is making you, Bee," he commented absently as he gazed out the passenger window for a moment, and then turned back to face her. "There are two entrances to the Wayne party tonight. For the average Gotham grubby socialite, it'll be out front with the press so they can catch them falling all over themselves drunk… The second one is round back, where the actual important people get in. Governors, senators, big business elite, they're in the back door. We may not be any of those things, but we're using that door tonight because there will be less attention on it... in a media sense."

Ann watched him as he spoke. While he may have been insane, the guy definitely knew how to make a good plan. There was a pretty slim chance that anyone else was calling the shots in this situation, and Joker was merely the painted puppet in the middle. No, he knew exactly what he was doing, and as he explained their plan of attack for the evening, Ann became acutely aware of just how involved he really was in all this madness.

"Thing is, you need to scan a barcode to get in," Joker continued as he smoothed down the front of his purple suit, "and our inside guy couldn't get us one in time. But, every cloud as a silver lining, and tonight that lining is going to be you, Busy Bee."

"Me?" Ann clarified, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief, "What can I do?"

"That's why we got you all prettied up," he mused. "The dutiful police officer on guard behind the glass doors has a thing for pretty blonde girls…"

"I'm _not_ sleeping with anyone," Ann reiterated pointedly, to which he rolled his eyes.

"I never said you needed to," Joker informed her. "Just use your womanly wiles and get him out the door… We'll take it from there."

She exhaled deeply, "Fine."

"It's not really an option, Bee," he remarked. She glanced over and noticed he had a rather large shotgun resting against his leg, the nozzle pointed upward lazily. It was as if he always needed to remind her that he could blow her head off in an instant if he wanted to. Not that she could ever forget, especially after burning that DVD of him brutally killing the Batman wannabe, Ann was fully aware of the length he could go to end someone's life.

The van circled Wayne Tower a few times, and then finally pulled into an alley around the back that was near their entry point. The driver pulled on a rubber clown mask, apparently a signature of the group, and Ann felt herself being hauled out of the van unceremoniously. She only just managed to maintain her balance in her heels, and awkwardly stumbled after him as he crept along the wall of the building. He released her to peek around the corner, and then grabbed her again and yanked her forward to watch as an elegant couple held up one ticket to a scanner beside a glass door. There was a loud buzzing sound, and the door apparently unlocked, allowing them entry without a fuss.

"Why don't you just go break the door in?" she inquired curiously. "It can't be all that difficult."

"When the glass shatters, an alarm goes off in the police department," Joker explained gruffly, "and I won't have time to _properly_ dispose of Dent if the whole department comes down here, guns blazing."

Ann paused, and then shrugged, "Fair enough."

"Glad you're so approving, Bee," he snorted, and then gave her a shove around the corner. "Now get the nice copper to come back here, and I'll take it from there."

"You're not coming with me?" she whispered heatedly. He pointed up at the door and Ann suddenly spotted the pair of cameras pointed down at the entrance.

"I don't want to spoil the fun yet. He's going to walk us in like the twisted cop he is…"

"But… if I'm luring him, he isn't twisted."

"He's going to come out here expecting a _favour_ in return," Joker leered, shooting her a wink. "Still want to defend him?"

She opened her mouth, but she could tell by the look on his face that it really wasn't a time to argue. As she slowly walked toward the door, she realized a few things. Firstly, there was a chance she could run inside and blow this whole operation, and come out a hero. However, Joker definitely wasn't going to be caught by one cop in a dark alley, and she'd probably end up dead before the week was out. Secondly, the police were going to get a look at her face. She fully intended to give the cameras an eye-full, and hopefully they would be able to match her face with that in the missing person's report. Despite the fact she wasn't going to be escaping his clutches tonight, there was a very small chance that her salvation might come sooner than expected if the police could see her face.

Therefore, when she stood at the glass doorway, before she did anything else, Ann took a meaningful look into each camera, silently pleading for someone to help her. When she finished, she looked inside and spotted a security guard sitting behind a desk which was stationed next to a metal detection unit in front of a single elevator. Swanky, Mr. Wayne. The cop was older. Probably had a good twenty years on her, if not more, and he looked greasy, even at a distance. He was balding with smatterings of white hair around his head, dressed in a very boring white shirt and black tie with suspenders, and had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The man looked every bit the movie cop one might expect to find in these situations.

Ann tapped on the door lightly, hoping to get his attention. She had formulated a story on the ride over, though even she thought it was a little flimsy. However, when he didn't look up from his laptop, Ann was forced to try again. With a frown, she knocked harder this time, making the door vibrate with each hit. Finally, the officer looked up, and although she didn't want to, Ann played her part. She urged him over with the wave of her hand, biting lightly on her lower lip as she did so. The man rolled his eyes, and slowly got up from his seat. She smiled as sweetly as she could as he walked over, clearly unimpressed with her act. The door opened just a crack, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Your entrance is at the front of the building, lady," he barked curtly. Ann hastily reached out and held the door open as he let it go to close.

"Oh no, no, this is my entrance," she said quickly, her eyes wide as she batted her lashes at him. "I just need some help before I go upstairs."

"Oh yeah?" he laughed, still sceptical, "Who are you?"

"I'm… I'm…" she fumbled, not expecting to be asked, and then finally got out, "the governor's _mistress_. I'm supposed to come separately, so his wife doesn't notice, but he told me to come in the back door. Him and Bruce are old friends… we had it cleared."

"Did you, now? I'm going to have to clear it with Mr. Wayne. He arrived about ten minutes ago."

"Wait, wait," she called. "Before you do, would you mind helping me? I'm really in a bind…"

He looked back at his laptop, and then up at the cameras. With a sigh, he opened the door a little more, "What do you want?"

"My driver and I wanted to cut through the alley to get around back, but the battery … or something died halfway through," she complained, shifting all her weight to one leg as she popped her hip out the best she could. "He just needs someone strong to help him push it out to the street so a tow can come pick up the car… I'd do it, but I'm really not in any condition to push a car…"

She motioned down to her body to illustrate her point, bit her lower lip again, and smiled, "I was hoping a police officer, like yourself, might be chivalrous enough to help."

"I dunno… I can't really leave…"

"It'll only take a few minutes!" she argued. His resolve was fading, but not fast enough. If she didn't have him out here within the next minute, Joker may actually lose his mind. They were already "late" for this party, and she didn't want to be the reason he somehow missed his chance on brutally killing another human being. For some reason, she had a feeling that wouldn't bode well for her future. Although she didn't particularly want to use his flirting technique, Ann was desperate. She ran her hand along the nape of her neck and pushed a few stray bits of hair away.

"Please?" she inquired flirtatiously, "Maybe I could come visit you later to repay you for your time… I bet the party's boring anyway."

She watched his eyes travel from her exposed neck down to her boobs, and then very slowly back up to her face. From there, she knew she had him. He darted back to his desk and grabbed what appeared to be his pass into the building and soon joined her outside.

"So is it a big car?"

"You like big cars?" she purred, hoping to keep him from going back inside, "I like everything big."

He grinned, only to have the butt end of a rifle slammed into his face as soon as they made it to the corner of the building. Ann gasped loudly as Joker dragged the man up into a standing position, looped their arms together, and pulled him roughly down the side of the building back toward the door, his cronies and Ann close behind him.

"Now swipe us in, _friend_," Joker instructed. A few of the men beside her cocked their guns to emphasize the order, and the cop lifted a shaky hand to the scanner and ran his card over it. The door buzzed noisily, and before they went in, Joker flashed a wide smile to the cameras. She held her own in the small crowd as they entered the building and quickly ran for the elevator, Joker leading the way.

"No skirts upstairs, Bee," he informed her when the elevator announced its arrival, "but Chuckles can keep you company until we come back."

"Aww, come on, Boss!" the thin man beneath the clown mask nearest to her groaned. Joker paid him no attention, and in a moment they were all stuffed in the roomy elevator, and the doors shut soundlessly in front of them. Chuckles pulled off his clown mask and tossed it moodily on the nearby table.

"Sorry," Ann muttered, knowing full well the real clown had excluded her because she'd be useless upstairs, and forced Chuckles to watch her because she'd probably run given the opportunity with no guard.

"It's not you," the man grumbled as he sat down in front of the laptop, "I just don't like being a babysitter to nobody, you know?"

"Fair enough."

She began pacing back and forth across the smooth floor as Chuckles mucked around on the laptop for a little while. Finally, when boredom overtook her, she looked back at him, "So what's your real name?"

"Chuckles don't sound real enough to you?" he asked, scratching his thinning brown hair casually. When he looked up she made a face, which caused his to shrug, "We don't get real names here, _Bee_."

"It's Ann."

"Good to know, but the less we all know about each other, the better it is, I think."

She pursed her lips, "Why doesn't he let me go?"

"Well," Chuckles started, his eyes still focused on the laptop screen as he clicked around, "you're part of the crew now, aren't you? Done your first deed in active duty and everything."

"But I don't _want_ to do this-"

"You can tell him that then. Go ahead. See what he says. See what options he gives you…"

At that moment, Ann realized that they had a lot more in common than she had noticed before. They were both exhausted looking, with bags under their eyes, and appeared somewhat undernourished. He had such a dark opinion of Joker and his outcome in this whole thing, and it made Ann wonder if he was stuck here for some insane reason, just like her. A part of her wanted to ask him more, but there was a slim chance he would give her any real answers. Probably just more attitude and pessimistic sarcasm, and Ann didn't need that if she wanted to keep up the hope that one of these days, sooner rather than later, someone would rescue her from being a part of this crew.

It didn't take long before the elevator button lit up, and the pair turned back to see what had happened. Surely it took longer to kill some fancy lawyer than ten minutes, but when the doors opened, it was only Joker and one other henchman.

"Where's everybody else?" Chuckles asked quickly as the two nearly leapt from the elevator and ran toward the door. Ann hastily kicked off her shoes, scooped them up and joined the gang in their getaway.

"We got interrupted by a winged crusader," Joker snapped. Although his answer had been violent, his tone was still giddy, and Ann could only assume they had done some damage up there. They rounded the corner quickly and the driver started up the van. Ann scrambled into the back with Chuckles, preferring to steer clear from the head honcho after the Batman had spoiled his excellently planned night. She could only fathom the repercussions that would come from this, and as she and Chuckles listened to their fellow henchman explain what had happened, she knew anything that would come in the future from tonight was going to be dreadful for everyone involved.


End file.
